


In winter's care

by courgette96



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Age Difference, Brainwashing, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, He has just some work to do, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Touching, Odin's A+ Parenting, Odin's Good Parenting, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, Sentient Casket, Stockholm Syndrome, The Casket is sentient, Thor Is Not Stupid, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Violent Thoughts, child grooming, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 107,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2547047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courgette96/pseuds/courgette96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The All-father has returned from Jotunheim victorious. He has triumphed over Laufey, has claimed the Casket for Asgard. In his wisdom, he stored the ancient artifact deep within the palace's vaults.</p><p>He should have left it where it stood, should have turned it into dust and thrown it into the Void.</p><p>For the Casket has a mind of Its own, and will rule over all that It can. Even his second son.</p><p>The All-father knows nothing of this, and so Loki is claimed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fill for my own prompt on norsekink:  
> http://norsekink.livejournal.com/13205.html?thread=33083285#t33083285
> 
> It is my first fanfic ever. I had no plans on writing it, but the idea just wouldn't leave me alone.Afterwards it was supposed to be just a drabble, then a one-shot, and now it has a prologue and probably several chapters...  
> I have no idea how this happened.  
> Criticism is much appreciated, on any level.

 Deep inside Asgard’s vaults lies a small box, blue and glowing.

 What is that glow, one may ask. The answer would never vary: it is magic, it is an echo of unimagined power, of winter made seidr.

 What is that box then, one would continue. There are two answers to this question.

 The Aesir would say : there lies the Casket of Ancient Winter. It has been called _Fimbulvetr_ , has been wielded by Laufey in the last Great War. It has been claimed by Odin-king victorious, and is now guarded to insure peace.

 The Jotnar would say : there lies our Lord, whom we are sworn to obey.

* * *

 Superior beings have the right to rule over the lesser species.

 The Casket holds this as true. It knows its worth, and therefore has laid claim over every inhabitant of this frozen realm.

 For although these creatures may be called giants, they are small, so small compared to the soul of Winter, whose existence has vastly preceded them and will go on for many years after the last Jotun has withered away. It is immense, a consciousness created by pure power. Its form is small, but Its mind is incredibly vast, and weaker beings cannot hope to fight against it.

 And so it latches on every soul It can find. It spreads throughout the planet, an omnipresent fact in the mind of every Jotun. It colonizes and rules, for who are they to say no to the true ruler of this realm ?

 These people live, fight and die for Its pleasure. They serve loyally, with the utmost love. Some of them may have held the tittle of King, but all know they rule in name only.

 A mere realm is not enough though, and soon the _Fimbulvetr_ leads an army to another planet, filled with weaker creatures. The blizzard howls, the ice creeps, and It delights in the manifestation of its own power. It rejoices at the prospect of new minds to reap.

 However, when It reaches out to these weak, ignorant things, It encounters a wall It cannot break. These creatures are not of the cold, they hide from it and seek out warmth. They do not have Winter in their bones, and so their minds are closed to It.

 This is the first failure It encounters. It rages, howls, demands retribution in blood and death. None may defy It, none shall resist ! It is superior, transcendent, and all shall kneel or shall die ! The proclaimed King wields it well, spreads ice and destruction, and yet fails to fight the army of gold that comes to oppose them. The minds of its soldiers are just as unattainable as those of the pathetic beings they try to defend, and so they fight. Its army is chased back to the too small frozen realm, Its generals defeated.

 It is then taken, removed by unworthy hands that do not know, do not see Its true nature. It is locked away, Its hold on the giants unknowingly severed by the All-Father when he first used his staff to remove It from Its temple.

 The failure burns, the knowledge of limits more so. It has lost Its kingdom, Its subjects and their servitude. It has nothing now, when It should be worshiped. There is no one to rule.

 Except one. A young little Jotun which has inexplicably found its way into the Palace. A babe still, unfit for anything at the time. Nevertheless, It will claim what is Its by right, and if this means stealing from Odin then all the better.

 Hungrily, It latches on.

 Upstairs, a young prince named Loki stirs in his sleep, then quiets once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't been this nervous since my entrance exams... Any thoughts?


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah... This chapter is more of a second prologue. Sorry if that's disappointing.I just didn't feel right skipping it.The meat of the prompt should start next chapter.  
> I can't say I am entirely happy with this chapter. This is a chance for me to see what needs to be improved on before the story starts in earnest.  
> Comments are much appreciated, as always.

 Frigga may very well be going mad with worry.

 Her husband has been gone for months now, off to defend Midgard from the invading Jotnar, She has had no word of him since. She knows of course that it is to be expected, that Odin would be too busy fulfilling his duty as protector of the realms to spend time on letters. The Frost Giants are formidable enemies. To do battle against them one must never lose focus and never relent.

This doesn’t stop her from begging the Norns for a vision, a sign, anything to soothe her fears.

If she could do as she pleased, she would lock herself away with Thor, hold him close and never let him go. Alas, she is the All-Mother, so she cannot. Every day she holds court in the place of her husband, a serene smile on her face. Every night she speaks of the men at war, talking of their return as if it was a certitude. For weeks people now have come to her for strength and comfort, forgetting that she too was a wife and a mother. She too was afraid.

What if Odin is vanquished? What if the Frost Giants manage to break through their defenses and pillage Asgard? Oh Norns, is the war lost and they just don’t know it yet?

She fears for Thor more than anything else. He is barely three decades old, much too young to be fatherless.

She barely finishes that thought before the she hears the doors to her chambers open. She whips toward the sound to find her husband standing at the entrance.

Odin has returned.

He looks tired, as could be expected. His appearance in unkempt: his beard is tangled, his cape oddly draped in front of him instead of hanging down his back. He stands straight however, and so she knows he is unharmed.

He hasn’t died. He is here, he is alive, and her family is safe. He is victorious, he is home. That is good. That is very, very good.

So why is he not rushing to her? Why is he staring at her with an intensity that terrifies her? Why won’t he speak?

She swallows. The silence between them is too oppressive.

“Greetings, my love.” With a tentative smile she adds. ”I trust you are well?”

He remains silent. And stares still.

“Thor is asleep right now, I could go get him, if you like” she continues. Maybe a mention of his son would get a reaction?

“…Don’t.” He finally speaks. It’s not much, but the way things seem to be she will make do with what she gets.

She waits for him to continue, but nothing comes. Persevering, she adds with a smile, “The war has done a number on you, husband. You are filthy.” The jest summons no reaction. “Shall I call the servants to draw you a bath?”

And still he stares.This does it.

“Please, Odin, tell me what’s wrong!” He says nothing, and so her worry rises. “Is it the war? Has Midgard been lost?” A terrible thought crosses her mind. “Norns, have Vili and Ve…?”

Her husband’s brothers had left their realms to join his campaign. Their deaths would explain his odd behavior. Perhaps her husband is still in choc..?

He sets her straight. “They have fought valiantly, and have now returned to Alfheim and Vanaheim, to their families.” This should reassure her, she knows. But her husband has barely spoken since his return, hesitates to approach her and she doesn't know why!

“Then what is it?” she demands. “What are you not telling me? Please husband, whatever it may be, let me help you!” She is close to screaming now.

Before he can answer, a cry resounds throughout the room. What…?

She understands when Odin glances down at his arms. He is carrying something under his cape; she hadn’t noticed before, too focused on her husband’s face and behavior. His arms shift, and she can now see it was a bundle.

A bundle with a weeping babe in it.

“Norns!” Instincts kick in, and she takes the babe from him. “Hush now, it’s alright. I didn’t mean to scare you, little one.” Still looking at the boy, she addresses her husband. “Where did you find him?”

 As seems to be his habit this evening, Odin takes some time before replying. “The temple, after the battle…next to the Fimbulvetr.”

 Near the Casket? How could it be? “How did an Aesir infant find its way in Jotunheim? Where is his mother?” As she speaks, the babe quiets down.

“He is not from Asgard.”

She looks up at this. Not Aesir? But that’s not possible! The coloring is distinctive, and a Midguardian child could not have survived Jotenheim. “What then?”

“A small jotun, left to die in the winter” he replies succinctly. She freezes.

“But the skin…” she protests weakly.

“A glamour I cast.” Again, the reply is cold and clinical, as if he hadn’t admitted to such a mad act. “I couldn’t touch it otherwise without getting a frost burn.”

 A Frost Giant. Her husband a bought a Frost Giant into her home.

 She suddenly has an urge to drop the infant. To make it leave. Her son is in the room next door, she wants this…creature as far away as possible! Her husband has spent months slaying Jotnar, and yet he brings one back at the end of the war.

 That isn't the last of it though.

 “I do not know his name, I am not sure Laufey even took the time to name it before abandoning it to the cold. However…”

 She cuts him off. “Laufey?” Her tone grows cold. “This is Laufey’s son?”

 He seems to detect the danger, for he answers carefully. “Yes, the clan lines mark him as such.”

 She takes a deep breath. “So not only do you bring a monster in my household, but the prince of monsters at that.”

 Odin flinches. “Wife…”

“I do not want it here.” He opens his mouth to protest, but she won’t let him. “Why did you do such a thing?” She keeps her voice leveled so as to not wake the creature again, but her fury can be heard all the same. “I will not have the prince of those beasts near my son.”

“Hardly a prince, My Lady”. Odin’s reply is calm, so calm, and it only angers her more. “He is a runt, abandoned by his parents. He has been forsaken by his people. They will never come for him.”

“A runt? You can’t know that!” This is madness, he must see it! “Perhaps all Jotnar are born this size. How can you say with such certainty that which you know nothing about?”

“I say it because it is what I learned from my mother!” Odin’s anger is sharp and biting. He nearly glares at her as he continues. “And if the child of a jotun is so repulsive to you, I would very much like to know why you accepted to be my wife!”

This stops her anger cold.

She hadn't forgotten her husband’s parentage. She had been only a child when All-Mother Bestla passed away, but she remembers a kind smile on blue skin. She has never begrudged her husband for his heritage. But this….

“You are Aesir.” she murmurs. “Your mother may have been from Jotunheim, but there was never any doubt as to your nature. You were raised as an As, were the prince of Asgard.” The argument feels weak, but she cannot find it in herself to stop protesting.

Of course, Odin is not so easily deterred. “This child will be all that.” His tone is soft, but firm. “He need not know his origins. He will be raised as a prince of the Aesir.”

“A prince of the Aesir…” she repeats. So this was his plan for the boy.

She stands straighter, and says in a steady voice, “Asgard already has a prince. Would you really raise a Frost Giant as your son? What about your true-born one, your heir?”

“I do this for Thor as well, wife.” is his reply. With a heavy sight, he goes on. “He would be raised along a Jotun, one that could one day be a link between two realms. Perhaps even he could rule, if the occasion arises, bring civilization to that frozen kingdom. I would have the two of them bring a new age of peace, two brother-kings.”

That answer doesn't satisfy her. “Do you truly believe that they would accept an Aesir-raised as their king? One that has already been rejected by the current ruler? This plan will never succeed Odin, surely you know that!”

“You may be right” he replies. He then stares at her, and pointedly adds, “However, would you deny Thor the only chance he has of having a brother?”

Her breath halts at this. How could he? How dare he re-open that wound?

That one comment is all it takes for decades of whispers and suspicion to flood over her. The Queen is barren, they had said. The All-father shall soon set her aside for a more worthy wife. The realm needs an heir, and she cannot provide one. The All-Mother has failed at her duty.

She stomps does feelings down. She had proved them wrong, all of them! She had given Odin a son, a strong, beautiful boy! Was that not enough? Was Odin so desperate for a second son that he went all the way to Jotunheim to get one?

Or maybe this was her punishment?

Bitter tears escape her eyes as she desperately tries to keep her composure. She has put all of that behind her. She will not let those falsehoods torment her any longer.

Odin sees her anguish and sighs. “I never blamed you for our childless years, Frigga, you know that.” He moves to caress her hair. “Thor is a wonder, my greatest treasure, and I thank the Norns every day for giving me such a wonderful wife and precious son.” He glances at the babe that still sleeps in her arms. “I would give him a brother he could care for and that would care back. I would give these boys the same gift I have received with Vili and Ve.”

His gaze finds hers once more, and the intensity of it takes her breath away. “For all this and more, Frigga, please let me keep my son.”

She can’t remember a time he ever begged. She breathes.

“As you wish.” She whispers, and reaffirms her hold on the babe. “As you wish”.

 

* * *

 

 A runt.

That is what It has claimed so eagerly. That is Its kingdom now.

The Casket bristles with

The creature is worse than worthless, its very existence is the worst of insults! It has ruled fierce, strong beings that toward over all other species of Yggdrasil. Millions of them! These giants were limited in mind, brutish and simple, but they had been redeemed by their sheer strength and the destruction they could bring. Now It has a disgusting, deformed mockery as its sole possession.

Nothing can make this tolerable, not even the prospect of stealing from that wretched All-father. He is a fool for saving what has rightfully been left to die.

It feels the weak little beast in Its mind, the bond between them almost intimate from the lack of other connections.

It is sickening.The deformed monstrosity is unworthy of such privilege!

And yet, despite all this, It cannot break the link between them, for then the Casket would truly have nothing.

It is dependent on the child.

Oh, how It hates the runt! Despite being the weakest of the weak, this… abomination has power of It!

This…This is blasphemy. This cannot stand, It will not allow it! The boy will pay, the Casket will see to it. The child will suffer!

Suffer greatly.

And so, the Fimbulvetr reaches out to the creatures mind and _stabs_.

The result is instantaneous. The runt cries, its anguish ripples through the bond, and it feels good. The Casket hurts the boy again. The screams are delightful, they sooth Its battered pride. The little thing can serve in one way, at least.

This child belongs to It, and will give It its pain if nothing else.

 

* * *

 

Loki is a strange child, Frigga thinks tiredly.

He has started crying again, for no reason she can think of. He does this frequently; he would be babbling in his crib, as happy as a babe could be, and suddenly start screaming. The yells are sometimes so loud she had taken to setting some silencing charms in the room.

Sighing, she picks him up and starts to rock him. A week since his arrival, and yet she is already tired to the bones.

Distantly, she marvels that no one has questioned the sudden appearance of a second prince. She had been so certain they would never had been able to explain it away. She feels a twinge of disappointment at their success.

The All-Mother had hidden her condition during the war out of worry, Odin had declared. The stress of the war was incredibly taxing on her very fragile pregnancy. Fearing what a miscarriage might do to the moral of her people, she had chosen secrecy until after the child had been delivered. The lie had been accepted with little fuss.

No one questions the All-Father, after all.

The court doesn’t question either why the Queen spends all her time in the presence of her new born rather than entrusting his care to a nurse. They call it a slight over-protectiveness, one that will fade with time.

The truth is that she is desperately looking for a hint of Loki’s heritage to shine through. It seems impossible that a child’s nature could be so well hidden by a simple spell. Surely, if she looks closely enough, she will see a flash of red in his eyes, a tint a blue on his skin?

And yet, when she looks in her arms, all she sees is a crying babe that could very well have been born from her womb.

With another sigh, she sits in one of the large chairs in her room and tries to sooth the boy. The cries quieten, but barely. It is an awful sound; no matter the species, she cannot peacefully endure the idea of a weeping infant.

She rocks him, shushes him, and is so focused on the child that she doesn’t hear Thor enter the room. At thirty-two years of age, he is still too young to have his own chambers, and so he sleeps in a bedroom next to hers.

He walks over to her with little difficulty. Once he comes to her level, he stares intently at the still weeping babes in her arms.

The urge is there to snatch her arms away, but she pushes it down. She has already accepted the jotun in her home; she won’t be able to keep them apart forever.

Thor bends over the boy, and states matter-of-factly “No cry, baby”

He puts his small hands on the babe’s stomach and continues. “Mama’s here, so no cry.” He kisses his forehead. “Love you, Loki. So no cry, bro’er”.

Another kiss, and Loki stops crying.

Oh.

Thor looks up to her, smiling. Loki reaches his arms to him.

She feels like crying.

She has never kissed the boy. A child had been crying regularly for a week, and she had never kissed him. Never even thought of it. It should have been instinctual, why hadn't she..?

Because Loki is a jotun.

She hadn't considered giving him a kiss because subconsciously she hadn't thought a jotun should receive any kind of affection. But now with the scene before her, she can’t think of any justification.

There is none. There is only her refusal to truly _see_ Loki, to see an innocent child instead of a savage monster.

While she had been hating blindly, Thor had come, has kissed his brother, and the weeping stopped. Thor had loved Loki, and Loki had loved back.

She hadn't thought jotnar were capable of such a thing. But these two boys had just shown her how very wrong she was.

Barely a week together and they are brothers already.

Why couldn't she be a mother?

Shame floods her like a tidal wave. She starts crying, crying harder than she has in a long time. Through her blurred vision, she can see Thor’s confusion. Sobbing, she pulls him to her.

“My boy,” she hiccups, “My wonderful, caring, loving boy.” She looks down at Loki. “My sons”.

She had been doubtful when Odin announced he intended to keep Loki’s heritage a secret. She knows better now.

She had been given a child, a second blessing, and she had nearly thrown it away because of her own prejudice.

How can she expect the other Aesir to accept his difference, when she hadn't been able to?

They will hurt him, if this comes out. They will scorn him, reject him. She can already imagine a particularly scornful As seeking glory by slaying the monster. She won’t be able to fend them all off. She will slip up, and she will lose him. Loki will die…

No, no he won’t. No one can no his true nature. Loki is her son, he deserves to be loved by his family and his people.

Slowly, she presses a kiss to his brow. The first of many, she vows.

Loki will never know, will never have to bear such a secret, and he will be protected.

She will not fail him again.

 

* * *

 

 After a month, the Casket’s anger quietens.

It cannot keep on hurting the child. Any more violence and its mind might break. That cannot happen.

One does not exist for several millennium without developing a certain pragmatism. If It is to own a runt, better if the creature is sane.

Besides, there is still hope.

The initial outrage passed, the Casket can see some good in Its situation. The child is a runt, yes. It will probably be weak in body, but it is still a Prince. The second son, not as valuable as could be hoped, but still useful. If properly used.

There is nothing to be done right now. Best to wait a few decades, and see what situation arises.

The Casket is not yet defeated. It will do what needs to be done, and no matter how long it takes, It will rule again.

It can wait.

It has all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if any of you are curious about how the ages work, there is a post on my newly created tumblr:
> 
> http://courgette96.tumblr.com/post/102023047808/fanfic-stuff-aesir-age
> 
> If you don't feel like it, the basic reasonning is that 18 years old in aesir= 1 year old human, that is until they reach the equivalent of 20 for a human.
> 
> About updates: I hope to put out two chapters a month. This will be complicated, seeing as this is my first time writing anything, so I will probably need time to get stuff out. Moreover, I chose a very sensitive subject matter, so I need to be very careful not to rush through this.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is chapter 2! Nothing much in the way of plot, but I promise I am getting there as fast as I can!  
> Hope you enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> All mistakes are mine

 

Thor is stupid, Loki thinks.

 He isn’t supposed to say that. His nanas have told him never to call someone stupid, because it is mean and unworthy of a prince. Besides, they say, no one is stupid anyway.

 He wonders if they have ever spent time with Thor.

 Thor wouldn’t play with him! At one hundred and seven years old, he kept saying he was too busy playing war with his friends to spend time with Loki.

 “You can’t come with us, you’ll get hurt! You’re only seventy-five, Loki”, he had taunted, “You’re a baby”.

 That isn't true. He had asked Mother, and she said he was a strong boy. Mother never lies. It is bad to lie, she says : honesty comes with honor. Loki knows how important honor is. Because of that, he never lies either. Except when he wants something.

 Just thinking about her makes Loki feel happy. Mother is the best mama ever ! She kisses him all the time, and always tells him she loves him. Then she hugs him, and he always whispers back that he loves her too. He adores those moments. There are many of them, since he spends a lot of time in her company.

 Loki kicks a rock dejectedly. He doesn't have many friends, because he likes to read a lot and doesn't play outside very often. The only good friend he has is Baldr, but he likes everyone (Loki knows he likes him best though, and that makes him feel better).

 He has been looking for him all over, so that they could play. He has asked different servants if they had seen him, but no one had been able to help.

 Mother may know. She knows everything. It’s not always a good thing, because that means she knows when he is lying, and that gets him in trouble. (He needs to practice some more.)

 With a determined step, he marches towards Mother’s chambers. The doors are closed when he comes to them. This means he isn’t supposed to come in, except when it is very important. Well, if he doesn't find Baldr he may go mad with boredom, so this is vital. And so he stands on the tip of his toes to reach for the handle. It is very high for his small body : he barely manages to grip the edge. He stands with his entire body stretched out, leaning against the thick wood for balance. He presses his whole weight down in order to pull the handle.

 The door opens, but Loki’s success is short lived as his balance is completely thrown off by the lack of support. He stumbles through the entrance and lands face first on the floor.

 His nose hurts very much, but on the bright side, Mother is indeed in her chambers. She is talking to Father. That’s very strange because Father left for Nidavellir two weeks ago and hasn’t returned yet. What is even stranger is that when Mother turns around to look at him, Father disappears in a golden light.

 He has never seen anything like that before.

 Mother rushes towards him and picks him up.

“Loki!” she cries, “Are you alright?”  She kisses his nose, and he nods distantly. How could Father be here when he was in another realm ?

 She then looks at him with the look he doesn’t like because it means he has done something wrong. “Why did you enter my chambers, son ? You know not to when the doors are closed.”

 Sheepishly, he answers “Thor didn’t want to play with me.” Yes, that’s a good start. Maybe Mother will be mad at Thor instead of him. “So I was alone, and I wanted to play. Baldr likes to play with me, but I can’t find him. So I came to ask you where he was, because you know everything!” He smiles very, very widely and adds for good measure “You are the best mama ever”.

 Unfortunately, Mother doesn’t seem too impressed. “That could have waited until I was done, Loki. And I think you know that” she sighs “But it doesn’t matter now. As it happens, I saw him going towards the Lady Freyja’s quarters not ten minutes ago. He should still be there, I believe. ”

 Oh no.

 If Baldr is with the Lady Freyja, then he will not go looking for him. It isn’t worth it.

 He doesn't like her very much, because she has gotten him in trouble once. He had spilled all of her makeup in the fountain : the colors had been pretty.

 Needless to say, she doesn't like him very much either

 This means she is very cold towards him. She likes Thor though, and gives him sweets from time to time, which is completely unfair. They are both princes, they should both get candy!

 This could not stand, and so Loki has taken justice into his own hands. He had switched her perfume with red dye he stole from the servant’s quarters last night. Knowing how frequently she puts some on, she should find out about it...today.

 Oh, he is _definitely_ not going anywhere near her quarters.

 Fortunately, he has found something else to do, namely ask about the very pretty but very strange thing he just saw.

 “Father was here. But he is in Nidavellir. But he was here. How was he here ?” he says in one breath.

 Mother raises her eyebrows “You were not supposed to see that Loki.”

 “But I did, so why was he here?”

 “Watch your tone, young man!” she warns. Loki makes the effort of looking contrite.

 With another sigh (he tends to provoke those a lot), she goes on. “Your Father is indeed in Nidavellir, discussing some issues with Sindri-King. He desired my council, and so I established an illusion with seidr in order to communicate with him.”

 Loki blinks. “Oh”

 He hasn’t understood a word.

 He tries very hard to look convinced. He hasn’t had much practice yet though, so Mother once again knows he is lying.

 She smiles. ”Come, I will show you.” She leads him to a chair and makes him sit on her lap. He likes that. It’s one of his favorite places in all the realms, especially when she lets him snuggle up against her chest like she is now. He lays his head against her shoulder as she holds her hand in front of his face.

 Almost instantly, the same gold light flickers over her palm, and suddenly standing in front of him is…him. A smaller version, the size of his own hand, but apart from that, it is exactly like him! The same clothes, the same hair, it even moves!

 Quickly he reaches out towards this image. Unfortunately, as soon as his fingers brush against it, it disappears in a flash of golden light. Oh no, did he break it ?

 “What happened ? Did I do something wrong? What was that?” he asks in quick succession.

  Mother smiles. “That was seidr, Loki. You’ve seen it all around the palace. The Bifröst, your father’s staff...” She creates another image of him before continuing. “This is just another manifestation of it. I created this, and so I can see through it. And dispose of it when I am done.” With another shake of her hand, the miniature version of him disappears once more. “Your father was in need of my council, and so I have created an image of myself by his side, and he one of himself in this chamber. This allows us to talk through great distances.” she concludes.

 Loki stares at the now empty palm before looking up. He knew about seidr, of course, but he always thought it was mostly big bright lights that set things on fire or made them blow up. He has seen Father summon some from Gungnir once. This is different, it seems much more practical.

 He looks back up at Mother. “So you can do this anytime?”

 She looks surprised at the question. “Why, yes. It is an aspect of seidr I master quite well”.

 “So Father can look into the palace whenever he leaves?” he presses.

  She suddenly looks sad. Loki knows she understands what he means now. “Loki…”

 “Why won’t he talk to us then?” he interrupts. “He is gone for so long, and we never see him when he gets back. But he can come and talk to us, so why doesn't he? Why is it only you?” The questions don’t really sound like questions, he notices dimly. Probably because he is very, very angry right now. “It’s not fair!”

 Mother moves to stroke his head, but he dodges her hand. He likes being angry. He wants to stay angry, so doesn't really want Mother to say anything right now. She always makes things sound okay, even when he is very sad, like when he broke his favorite toy by accident once.

 Except this isn’t about a toy, and it isn’t okay.

 Mother looks hurt when he moves away, which is very bad because it makes him feel guilty and not so angry anymore. This is exactly what he wanted to avoid !

 “I know you wish to see your father more often,” she says in her very soothing voice, which is cheating “but he is the guardian of the Nine Realms. His duties keep him extremely occupied” She moves towards him ; he’s already not angry enough to not let her. “He comes to me for matters concerning the realms, and so I see him when he is away. But do not think for a moment that he ever doesn't want to see you.” She kisses his forehead. “Your father loves you very much. Kingship is a burden he bears with little pleasure when it keeps him away from you.”

 He doesn't want to believe her, but at the same time he does. He hates that, the confusion. Thor is the one who should be confused, he is an oaf. Loki is the smart one.

 He finds another rebuttal. “It wouldn’t take long…Just a minute, twenty seconds!”

 She shakes her head. “Do you not think he would if he could?”

 “He is Father, he can do anything!” he replies stubbornly.

 “He would be very pleased to hear you say such things,” she says with a smile, “but alas, it is not true”. She tucks his hair behind his ear as she continues. “Seidr is a very difficult art to master, Loki. It is also very taxing. To project an image of one-self across realms is no small feat, and requires a lot of energy. Therefore, it must only be done in case of true need.” He starts crying at this. “Your father is in Nidavellir in order to tend to its interior turmoil. Several dwarven lords are contesting Sidri-king’s decisions as of late, and such troubles may affect the whole of Yggdrasil. The All-father was called upon, he must preserve his strength in order to preserve stability. Do you understand?”

  He doesn't want to understand, to “be reasonable” like his nanas sometime say. He wants her to say he is right. He wants Father to appear and apologize, to hold him very close and say he is never leaving him alone again. He wants Mother to promise to always call him when Father uses seidr. He wants to sit down and pout until he gets his way.

 Instead, he nods, and answers with a tear-filled voice “Father cannot see me because he would be too tired, and he has to do important things.” He sobs “It..it is more important, and…” he starts crying once more.

 Mother takes him in his arms “Oh, Loki, nothing is more important to him than his sons!” He clutches her neck. “I know this isn’t what you wish to hear, but as king he has to make many sacrifices.” She shushes him as a sob shakes his entire body. “This is one of many, but never doubt that he loves you, and that if he could, he would spend every waking moment with you.”

 Loki nods. He is feeling tired now, and not angry at all. He doesn't want to argue anymore.

 However, he does want answers : something is bothering him.

“You don’t look tired.” he says.

 She looks confused, so he elaborates. “You said using seidr across realms is very tiring, but you don’t look tired. Why?” He really wants her to not to be lying about this. He doesn't think she’s lying, because she never does. But this doesn't make sense!

 “Ah yes” she says, a bit embarrassed. Oh no, she was lying, wasn't she?

 Then she smiles a funny smile. It is funny because he smiles that way too sometimes, when Thor comes to him for help and Loki makes him beg really, really hard. “Well…I have some talents that your father does not possess when it comes to seidr wielding.”

 He blinks once, twice, before the meaning of what she just said comes crashing down on him. “You are stronger than Father?” he almost yells in shock.

 That’s impossible ! Father is the greatest man ever, the best in all the realms. But wait, Mother is the best mama ever, she is the queen and the strongest lady there is. So who is the absolute best, the greatest Father or the greatest mama?

 He wasn’t prepared for these kinds of questions. He will have to ponder them in depth later.

 Mother laughs, even though it isn’t funny. “Not stronger, my boy, he is the All-father after all.” She stands up. “However, when it comes to seidr, my talents most likely exceed his. At the very least, they do for matters unrelated to battle.”

 Huh.

 So in short, Mother can talk to Father whenever she wants, but Father can’t. That’s because Mother is very, very good at magic.

 What if he were very good too? What if he could do whatever he wanted with seidr? He could do what Mother does ! He could reach Father even when he was very far away !

 “Can you teach me?” he blurts out.

 Mother looks startled. “Pardon?”

 “Can you teach me ? How to use seidr?” he takes a deep breath. “Can you teach me to do what you can do?” He looks at her expectantly.

 She doesn’t answer. She just… stares at him. He’s not sure why.

 “Please?” he tries.

 She makes a face as if she just woke up. “I’m sorry, Loki, I…” she shakes her head a little bit, before continuing, “Yes, I would be very glad to teach you.”

 Loki’s face lights up. “Really?”

 She chuckles “Yes, of course. Now, I must attend to some business before supper. Perhaps you can go looking for your friend in the square courtyard? I have seen you play there more than once.”

 She’s right ! Baldr likes that spot a lot ! It is also very far away from Freyja’s chambers, which is nice.

 He runs towards Mother to give her a hug, the biggest he can. “Thank you”.

 He rushes out afterwards.  “Careful, Loki!” he hears Mother shout.

 He is careful, he is careful, but he is also so excited!  He needs to tell all of this to Baldr!

 He goes down the palace's stairs, through the great hall towards a small back door. It’s a little wooden thing, not like all the big archways and gold gates that can be found in the main corridors. It leads to a small hallway, used mostly by servants. Loki had first gone through it in search of the kitchens. He had hoped to steal cakes from the cooks. It hadn’t ended well, he had spilled a big cauldron filled with very hot soup, which made three maids slip and fall. One of them had twisted her ankle, and Loki had been grounded for a week.

 That didn’t make him give up on the cakes however. He had spent a month waiting and scheming in order to seize all the cakes. His plan required an accomplice, someone whose love for sweetness matched his own. He had thought of asking Thor, but he was a bit too tall, and his operation required stealth and discretion. And so, he had turned to Baldr, who had had a most peculiar reaction.

 “Why don’t you just ask them for some?” he had said to a baffled Loki.

 And so Baldr had dragged him to the kitchen and made him apologize to the head chef. After that, he had politely asked for those so dearly coveted cakes, and lo and behold, had received them. The two boys had ended up sharing them in the small courtyard next to the kitchen doors, where Loki was now headed.

 Loki feels stupid for not thinking of looking there. In his defense though, they often went there together rather than meet there. Still, he should have thought about it. Baldr and he play there a lot now. It is a small and isolated place, so the bigger children seldom go there. Also, the maids liked Baldr so much they sometimes brought them sweets without them asking.  It was no wonder it had become their favorite place.

 And indeed, as he turns at the last corner, he sees Baldr sitting in a corner, bouncing a ball against the wall. He turns around when Loki calls him.

 “There you are!”, Loki exclaims, “I was looking all over for you!”

 Baldr blinks at him. “I’m always here.”

  Loki feels his cheeks reddening. “Well, maybe you weren't here this time, stupid!”

 “I’m not stupid.” is his calm reply. He pushes a small plate towards him. “Bylgja brought us some pie today. I asked for strawberry for you.”

 “Thank you” Loki mumbles as he sits down next to him. Baldr smiles brightly. It’s funny, when he does that he looks a lot like Thor, much more than Loki does. They both have blond hair and bright blue eyes. Thor is bigger than him though, and will probably always be. Loki is glad about that : they can be small together.

They stay there for a while, both quietly eating their snack, before Loki remembers what he wanted to say.

 “I’m going to learn seidr!” he exclaims proudly.

 Baldr looks at him, and asks with his mouth still half-full. “Huh?”

“Mother is going to teach me!” Loki continues. “I asked, and she said she would. Did you know that she is better than Father ? Not in everything, but she is in seidr! She can do things people can’t do, and once she teaches me I’ll be able to do them to ! And then Father will…” His voice falters. He doesn’t want to mention that.

 Luckily, Baldr is very good for that sort of thing. Instead of pressing him to continue, he asks “So you’ll become a mage?”

 “A what?” Loki asks.

 “A mage, it’s what you call a man who does only seidr.” he replies. “My great-uncle is a mage, so that’s how I know. We don’t talk about him much though.”

 “Why not?”

 “Father says he should have been a warrior, that it was more honorable. He says seidr is a coward’s art.” 

 Loki bristles at this. “It’s not! I will do seidr, and I am not a coward!” He gets up and starts pacing. “Your Father is stupid, that’s the problem!”

 “He’s not!” Baldr stands up, suddenly very tense. “You take that back ! Right now!”

 “He is! He is stupid, because I am not a coward! I will be a great fighter, and I use seidr!” Loki shouts. “I’ll show you! I’ll show everyone!”

 He needs to. He has to learn seidr to reach Father, but Father will want nothing to do with a coward. It can’t…He is not a coward!

 Baldr stares down at his feet. “I don’t think you’re a coward. I think you will be very good as a mage, because you are very clever.” He looks back up, his hands tensed into tight fists. “But you are being very mean, so apologize!”

 He does that face then, the same face that made Loki apologize to the cook. It was a strange face : his lips tremble slightly, but he was staring straight at him without ever blinking.

 There was great seidr within that face.

 “I’m sorry” Loki mumbled. He then turned his face, blushing. “You really think I’ll be great?” he asks sheepishly.

 “Of course!” is Baldr’s enthusiastic reply. “You are a prince ! You will be very talented, and I will be a great warrior. When we are old, we will slay monsters together and everyone will know about Baldr the fearsome and the brave Prince Loki the mage!” He waves his hands in exuberant joy at the thought.

 Loki laughs. “They will!” They will face everything and everyone, as long as it is not Freyja, who is just too scary. About that…

 “Why would you go anywhere near Freyja’s quarters?” he asks. It really makes no sense, why would anyone want to associate with that terrifying woman?

 However, before Baldr can answer, a servant comes rushing towards them.

“Prince Loki!” she calls out. “Your Mother is waiting for you for supper ! Please come at once.”

 Before he can form any protest, he is ushered out of the courtyard, barely able to wave Baldr goodbye.

 The impudence of some people.

 

* * *

 

 

 “… and then Fandral tripped so I managed to make him fall, and I won!” Thor finishes with a smile.

 Loki had taken great care in keeping a bored expression on his face during his brother's recount of his adventure. He had stared at his plate the whole time working on spreading his vegetables in his plate in order to make them look mostly eaten. Although he would never admit it, he was secretly very glad : he would have been crushed by the bigger boys.

 Perhaps Thor was right, he was too young.

 He still wasn't a baby, though.

 “That is very well done, Thor.” Mother says with a smile. “Although do try to be careful with such games, you could easily get hurt”

 “Mother!” Thor whines, “You always say that!” He pouts. “I am big enough, you don’t have to worry”.

 She laughs and reaches over to touch his hand. “A mother will always worry, Thor. It is not because I think less of you.” She looks over at Loki. “I know your strength. Besides, I trust you to be strong enough to look after your brother.”

 Thor looks at him then, and proudly proclaims “I will take great care of you, Loki ! Once you are old enough, we will train together and become the best warriors in all the realms! I promise!”

 This prompts Loki to reply “I won’t be a warrior.” He then goes back to (subtly) rearranging his vegetables. Because of that, he cannot see Thor gawking at him.

 “You have to be a warrior.” he says as if it is the most natural thing in the world.

“No, I don’t.” Loki replies in an equally factual manner. “I will become a mage. I am going to used seidr.”

 Thor stares. “You can’t. You have to be a warrior”

 Loki bristles. “Why not?” He thinks he knows why not, but he won’t admit it.

 “Seidr is for girls!” Thor proclaims. “Men don’t use it, they do battle with swords and shield ! Seidr is for cowards, everyone knows that!”

 “I’m not a coward” Loki replies for the third time that day. He doesn’t want to think that Baldr was right. He turns towards Mother “Tell him ! Tell him you are going to teach me!”

 She looks hesitant. “Loki… It is true that seidr is mostly used by women…”

“See!” Thor says smugly. Loki doesn’t pay him any attention.

 He stares at her in shock. “But…you said you were going to teach me”

 “Of course I will, my dear boy, if you so wish!” she replies hastily. “But, perhaps, knowing what you know now, you will want to wait a little while before deciding?”

 No! He has decided already ! He needs to learn now if he is to become a great mage ! Father won’t wait for him, so he can’t wait either !

All he can do is whisper “But… you said…”

 “I know, Loki, I know” she tries to cajole him. “But such an unconventional choice will cause you much hardship. I do not want you to suffer because of a passing whim.”

 Loki gets off his chair, and angrily replies. “It’s not a whim ! I want to become a mage ! You said I could!” He breathes. “Father uses seidr, why can’t I?”

 Mother sighs “It is different when you are king. The All-Father must use everything in his power to protect the realms, including Gungnir or Hildskjaf.”

 “Why would you want to become a mage anyway?” Thor whines. “They never have any songs about them, and they have no honor.”

 “Shut up Thor!” Loki yells.

 He runs towards his chambers, ignoring Mother’s calls and his brother’s whining. He barges in, slams the door and closes it with a lock he isn’t supposed to use. Only then does he sit on his bed and starts crying.

 He cries for a long while, because it isn’t fair, he wants to be a mage. Because Mother said she would, but doesn’t want to anymore. Because nobody thinks he should learn how to use seidr, when he needs to learn so that Father will never leave again.

He sits there for what feels like hours, until his limbs become stiff. Sighing, he gets up and paces around his room.

 Maybe he shouldn’t study seidr. Maybe he should just do like Thor, and train to be a warrior. He doesn’t want to, but if everyone does it, there must be a reason, right ?

 Except Baldr’s great uncle was a mage, and that not everyone does it. Why not Loki ? He is a prince, he can do what he wants !

But apparently not, because Mother won’t teach him.

 Loki kicks at the ground. He mumbles “Seidr is stupid anyway.”

  _Oh, I disagree, little boy._

 His head jerks up. Did someone come in?

 He looks around. No one. “What…?”

  _You expressed the opinion that seidr was, as you put it, stupid. I, on the other hand, find it to be a very valuable pursuit._

Who is talking ? There is no one here ! It’s not possible. “Where are you?” he demands. “Show yourself” He tries to sound brave, but there is a voice talking to him and no one in the room !

_I am afraid I cannot, dear boy._

“What do you mean, you can’t? I am a Prince, I demand it!” He tries to sound poised, like Father when diplomats come to the throne room. “If your intentions are friendly, then you will have no objection in complying.” Yes, that sounded right. Unfortunately, it didn’t have the intended result.

  _I am physically unable to show myself to you. However, I can assure you that my intentions are friendly. I merely wish to…converse with you._

 “If…if you don’t”, Loki starts, “I shall fetch the guards and…” his voice falters.

_I rather wish you wouldn’t, Prince. As I said, I only wish to talk._

That doesn’t sound too bad…But no. He can’t just talk, Mother warned him about such things ! He isn’t to trust anyone he doesn’t know, no stranger is supposed to be alone with him. And he doesn’t know who this is, or what this is. He doesn’t know anything actually, and that makes him very scared. Should he call the guards ? He is supposed to, but there is no one in here so what could they do? He doesn't even know how he would explain anything to them ! He has no idea what is going on, this is bad. This is very, very bad. Where should he go, what…?

 He wants Mother. He needs to see her, he needs her now !

_Prince..._

No, no, no, he is not listening, he is not listening! He needs to find Mother!

He races towards the lock and works it open.

_Please, wait!_

Loki doesn’t listen.

He runs away.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: Although they are around 80, Loki and Baldr are about 4 and a half by human standards.

 Loki runs through the hallways, barely paying attention to his surroundings. That’s fine though. He knows the way to his mother’s chambers, has gone there a thousand times. It’s all automatic, all muscle memory. This leaves all the room in his mind to his panicked thoughts.

 Find Mother. There is someone (something?) invisible in my room. I need Mother. Find her!

 Unfortunately, habit doesn’t account for any obstacle along the way. And so, after blindly turning at the penultimate corner, he crashes into a palace guard. Both of them are taken by surprise, and so the tumble down together in a most undignified manner. Still dizzy, Loki had enough sense to realize he is in trouble.

 The higher the position, the more people seem to attach importance to protocol and decorum. A guard in the royal wing is a very high rank indeed. There is no way the guard will simply let him walk away, Loki knows.

 He is right.

“Young Prince!” the guard - Baldi Aunnson, he thinks- exclaims once they are both standing up. “You cannot go running through the halls at this hour. It is very near midnight! Come, I shall escort you to your chambers”.

 He takes him by the arm and starts leading him away. Loki feels like crying.

“No…please, I need to see Mother” he sobs. “Please!”

 The guard looks startled at this. It is not often the second prince reacts that way to being reprimanded. In fact, this sort of behavior is only seen when the King or Queen themselves see fit to reprimand him. “The All-Mother is most likely sleeping at this time of the night. It wouldn’t do to wake her up, she needs her rest. Come now, back to your room.”

 “No!” Loki yells. The guard looks at him in shock. “I can’t go to my room, there….someone is in there, and…” Oh, why can’t he just get Mother? “Please, I can’t go back in there, it’s not safe. Please, Mother said…” He is babbling, he knows, but he cannot make himself stop. He wants his mother so badly!

 Aunnson suddenly looks at him, very focused. Apparently, he has managed to make sense out of Loki’s ravings. “Someone was in you room? Did you recognize that person? What did he look like? Did he harm you?” Loki flinches at the onslaught of questions, but manages to blurt out “No! There wasn’t anyone!”

 The guard recoils, confused. “But, you just said…”

 “I mean, I heard someone, but no one was there. But there had to be…I….I heard….” Loki can barely get the words out. He wants the guard to believe him, he really does! But it’s always easier with Mother, why can’t it be her instead?

  The guard notices his distress. He takes a deep breath, for both their benefit, and crouches down to meet his eyes. “My Prince, what happened?” His face is calm and collected.

 It helps. The dutiful behavior is steadying, and Loki works to breath at the same time as him.  A few seconds pass as he tries to form a coherent sentence, but eventually he manages. “I heard someone talking to me, in my room…I couldn’t see them though…only heard someone, and… I wanted to get Mother because I was so scared, and… and…”  He can feel the panic rising again, cutting off his breath.

 “Hush, little prince hush.” Aunnson puts a hand on Loki’s shoulder, shushing him until the prince is calm again. He then stands back up and takes his hand. “You did not actually see anyone in your room, correct?” Loki nods timidly. “It is as I understood. Well then, my Lord, I believe there is no danger there for you. Your chambers have been designed so that no one can hide within and ambush you. If you did not see anyone, then there was likely no one there. Besides, any intruder would have been seen by Heimdall.”

 “But…but I heard someone!” Loki sputtered. “I swear, I heard someone. What…what if Heimdall couldn’t see him, or he was invisible, or…”

 “It is no common man that can make himself invisible, much less hide from the all-seeing guardian.” The guard sighs. “Truly, my Prince, I do not think there is any cause for worry. Come, let us take you back to your room”.

 Loki lets himself be dragged by the hand, sniffing all the while. He heard someone, it was true, but he couldn’t actually prove anything, could he? No wonder the guard didn’t believe him. It was stupid to try and convince him.

 Thinking about it, he’s not even sure Mother would have believed him.

 In front of Loki’s room, Aunnson glances at him. Loki flinches; surely he will be reprimanded for crying like that. (“You’re such a crybaby”, Thor would say). Or maybe the guard thinks he is lying? He wasn’t, this time, really, why should he get in trouble for that!

It doesn’t matter though. He can’t do anything about it, except brace himself for a lecture on proper behavior. He waits for the disapproving voice, and so he jumps when he feels a re-assuring hand on his shoulder.

 “My Prince, there is no need for fear” the guard whispers. “In the light of what you said to me, I understand why you would be afraid.” Loki’s eyebrows shoot right up. He believes him?

 Aunnson chuckles. “Yes, my little Lord, I do not think you are lying or being unreasonable. However, that does not mean there is truly an intruder in your room.” He puts his hand on the door handle. “Most likely a vivid nightmare that followed you once you were awake.  I am told you have a rather vivid imagination. An unpleasant dream is a more likely explanation than an unnoticed breach in our security, don’t you agree?”

 Loki nods, but must not look very convincing for the guard says “If you wish, I can inspect the room for you. Would you prefer that?”

  “Yes”,Loki says timidly.

 And so Aunnson opens the door and does a great show of searching the room. He lifts up every cushion, looks under the bed and inside the cupboard. He checks behind the door and out the window before turning back towards him and saying. “There, my Lord, are you reassured?”

 Not really, no, but there is no way Loki is admitting that. “Yes, thank you very much.”

 “It is my duty, my Prince.” The guard bows. “I hope you will be able to rest, my Prince. The All-Mother is not the only one who needs her sleep.” With a smile, he exits the room. “Goodnight, My Lord.”

 Loki stares at the door for a minute before climbing in his bed. The mention of Mother makes his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Stupid, he is so stupid. He could have woken her up for no reason at all. He would have been such a bother, a… a coward. Stupid, stupid, there… there is no one here… no one at all. He saw that… He just saw that…

 He repeats this mantra over and over again, trying very hard to believe it. Still, he can’t help but strain his ears to catch every sound in his room, can’t help the way his body tenses up at the slightest noise. He is restless, and so he fidgets in his bed.

 He feels watched. He feels restless, he…

 He is being silly, isn’t he?

 He feels a wave of calm wash over him. Yes, he is, of course he is. Why should he be afraid? No one would harm him.

 His breathing slows, his limbs sink in the mattress. He is tired, but also very, very relaxed. Everything is fine, really. He is safe here. Everything here is safe, the guard said so, didn't he? He is protected.

 On that thought, he drifts into sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

 “So you won’t to be a mage after all?” Baldr asks, moving one of his pieces.

 Loki pouts as studies the board. He will answer once he is finished. Tigers and goats is one of his favorite games, he refuses to loose even one round. Baldr will just have to wait. He twirls his goat in his hands, taking more time than necessary picking where he place it. In truth, he has already chosen his move and the three after; however, he hopes that if he takes too long, his friend will get bored and forget his question.

 Unfortunately, Baldr has always been oddly patient for an eighty year old. He stares at Loki, awaiting his answer without adding a word. Eventually, Loki makes his move and sighs, irritated. “Who told you that?” he deflects.

 “Thor. He told me that since I’m your friend, I have to make sure you become a warrior, and not a mage. Did you change your mind?” he answers.

 “Mother won’t teach me” Loki mumbles, “so I have to become a warrior, like Thor will be….”

 “That’s nice!” Baldr exclaims, “You’ll be warrior-brother-princes!”

 No, it isn’t be nice, but Loki doesn’t have it in him to disagree. He nods, and moves another of his pawns. They play in quiet for about ten minutes, Baldr completely oblivious to any discomfort. Eventually, though, he speaks up.

 “Why couldn’t we bring the board near the kitchen? It’s stuffy in here!” he whines.

 Indeed it is. Loki had insisted on playing in a small room in the servant’s corridor. There are no windows, only white walls and a few shelves containing replacement pans and cauldrons. The servants are careful with their supplies though, so no one comes here. This suits his purpose perfectly.

 “We can’t go near the kitchen because we always go there.” He explains very slowly, as if it were the most absurd question.

 “But that’s because we get cakes! Why shouldn’t we go there? I hate this room, please Loki? Can we go?” Bald begs.

 “No, Baldr!” Loki snaps.

 “Why not? There’s no reason, it’s stupid!”

 “No it’s not!” Loki argues. He hates that word when it’s directed towards him. And it’s wrong! He has a perfectly good reason! “We are staying here because Freyja will never look for us here!” he blurts out.

 Baldr blinks. “What..?”

 Oh. Right, he hasn’t told anyone about the incident. He probably shouldn’t have said anything…

 “Loki, what did you do?”  his friend asks, disapproving.

 Ha, as if Loki would tell.

Well, he had no intention of saying anything, but Baldr is staring at him with his very persuasive face. One of these days, Loki is going to ask him how he does it, because Loki’s resolve ends up vanishing rater quickly. “I may have…tampered… with the Lady’s products?” he says with a smile.

 “That was you? The red dye?” Baldr yells. His eyes are wide. “She is so angry! You’re going to get in trouble! Why would you do that?” The game is completely forgotten now.

 Loki can’t help but feel smug. He knew exactly how to push Freyja’s buttons, it would seem. “She keeps being nicer to Thor! She hates me! It’s not fair! So… I took care of it.” He laughs at that.

 Unfortunately, Baldr doesn’t. “She doesn’t like you because you keep pranking her! You know that! What you did… It wasn’t nice at all! You’re going to get punished!” He gets up to tug at Loki’s sleeve. “You’ve got to apologize before things get worse!”

 “I don’t have to if I don’t get caught!” Loki retorts. “Come on, it’s just a bit of dye! It’s nothing!” He pouts a little. “Why are you being so annoying about this?”

 Baldr looks surprised at that. “You’re going to get in trouble. That’s enough, no?” he states as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He looks at his feet. “I wish you would stop doing those things. They aren’t always funny…”

 “Agh, it’ll be fine!” Loki says, exasperated. “Stop being such a worrywart! Come on, let’s get cakes, they might make you more fun!” He gets up, rolling his eyes. Really, what’s the big deal about all this? It’s just a prank!

 He walks out towards the kitchen, and pretends not to notice that Baldr doesn’t immediately follow him.

 He can be so uptight, sometimes.

 

* * *

 

 

 Maybe Loki should have listened to Baldr.

 Or maybe not. Maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything.  Or would it have? He doesn’t know. He really doesn’t. It doesn’t matter anyway. At this point, Loki is doomed.

 He had left Baldr shortly after they had finished their platter of sweets. His afternoon classes were to start soon, and Loki makes a point never to be late. It was a domain where he knows he can exceed Thor, and so he puts a lot of work into each and every one of his classes. It isn’t much of a hardship: all he has to do is learn basic geography and history; he has always had a very good memory. And it was worth all the trouble in the world when his tutor would praise him in front of his parents, while Thor sulked on the side. For all his strength, his brother will never best him in this.

 Loki isn’t petty. He simply appreciates a proper balance in life.

 Which is exactly why he delivered swift justice upon the Lady Freyja.

 Unfortunately, this excuse probably won’t be accepted by Mother. He needs to find another one fast. He glares at his brother, who is to be his escort towards the sewing room. His very presence is enough of a sign that something terrible had happened. For Loki, anyway.

 At the end of his class he found Thor outside the library. His brother never went anywhere near that place unless he absolutely had to, yet there he stood, with a solemn look, staring straight at Loki. His brother had come for his, it seemed.

 And indeed, Thor spoke those dreaded words: “Mother wants to see you.”

 The way they were said was everything. Spoken slowly, purposefully, lingering on the last word. She must be very, very angry then.

 Oh, how Loki hates those words. They are bringers of death by punishment and banned cakes. And how often he hears them, in the same tone and rhythm. It is an unspoken code between the brothers. The meaning is simple: “You are in trouble, but I am not”. When Loki says them to Thor, his brother’s face would go white, and pre-emptive tears would for in his eyes. When Thor said them to Loki, Loki’s heart would fill with dread and his mind would go reeling. The worst though is that there is nothing to be done other than to go see Mother, as demanded.

 They are almost there now, and Loki still can’t think of anything to say. He knows why he is called, there is only one action of note he has done this week. He knows exactly what - or rather who – he is going to find behind that door.

 Sure enough, when he enters the room, he finds his mother sitting next to the Lady Freyja. A furious Lady Freyja.

 Loki surveys his handiwork. The dye he took is mainly used on textiles, and as such it is extremely difficult to wash out. Consequently, the fair Lady’s skin is covered in red patches, similar to rashes. Worse still is that she apparently sprayed her perfume very generously: she is absolutely covered in stains.

 Overall, it is a great success. Loki takes time appreciating it. He is doomed anyway, might as well make the most out of this situation.

 He takes great care in hiding his satisfaction, however. No need to make things any worse.

 Mother clears her throat. “Loki, I will not stall in this matter. Did you put red dye in Lady Freyja’s perfume?”

 He has no plans on lying, but before he can answer, he is cut off.

 “I know it is him, my Queen. I have it on good authority. A…reliable source.” Freyja is practically sneering. “Besides, I do not knows who else it could be. No one else in the castle has the same penchant for…misbehavior.”

 Oh, she truly does hate him, doesn’t she?

 Well, if this is to become a war, he might as well start attacking. And so he gives the Lady is sweetest, most charming smile.

 It works. She grows positively livid.

 Mother looks at him sharply; he sobers up. “I hear what you say, my Lady, but I would also hear from my son. Loki, did you do this?”

 There is no point in stalling. “Yes, Mother”.

 She sighs, her disappointment clear. It is always awful, and for a moment, he wonders if it was at all worth it.

 Then he looks at Freyja and decides that yes, it was this time around.

“May I ask you why?” she asks pointedly.

 He can’t really justify himself, not in a way she would accept anyway. Would saying anything help, or would it just make matters worse?

 He takes too long to decide. His silence frustrates her.

 “I suppose your silence is answer enough.” She sighs again. “Every time you come to me for your mischief, I hope my talks will manage to convince you to stop. And every time, you come back to me a week later.” She stands up. “My Lady Freyja, I will take care of disciplining my son. You may leave.”

 Freyja obviously doesn’t want to leave, but rises none the less. She bows very low before exiting the room with a vindictive smile on her face. Loki doesn’t watch her leave. His entire focus is on Mother and the punishment he will receive.

She stares at him for a while before starting. “I do not know what to say to you, Loki. I have tried to reason with you, to explain why you mustn’t do such things.” She sits back down. “As your Mother, it is my duty to repeat myself, and so I will do it once more: this “prank” of yours was cruel. You may have derived amusement from this, but this only caused the Lady embarrassment and humiliation. It is unworthy, Loki.”

 He knew this was coming, he knew coming here that she would be displeased. The knowledge doesn’t stop him from tearing up as she continues. “I know you do not see it that way, not truly. I do not believe you to be malevolent, my son, and I know of your relationship with Freyja. I also know you put a lot of thought into this, for the Lady takes great pride in her appearance. This strikes me as more than a simple prank, but I cannot have confirmation from anyone but you.”

“I will ask you this: do you feel justified in your actions?”

 He did then, and still does a little now. It really wasn’t fair, and he wanted to punish her for that. However…He has this feeling in his chest, the kind he has when he knows he is not completely in the right. It was just a bit of dye, though…and she deserved it…

 He doesn’t know what to answer. He doesn’t know what would please her, and he doesn’t know what he would truthfully answer.

 “You hid your actions from others, fearing judgment. This tells me you knew very well that they wouldn’t be well received. What were you hoping to accomplish, my son? Were you just looking for amusement?”

 He cries harder, hiccups a little. Mother sighs and walks towards him.

 “Oh, Loki.” She kneels in order to look at him straight in the eyes. “If you do not tell me why you did it, I cannot help you. Beyond that, as long as you continue with this behavior, you must face the consequences.” She straightens. “I do not like punishing you, my son, believe me. However, I will still restrict you to your room, baring your classes and meals. For the rest of the week, I think. I hope you will use that time to reflect on your behavior.”

  He nods. He cannot get any words out, so he silently turns away to go to his room.

 “Loki” Mother calls out. He stops. “If something important were bothering you, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

  He is not a telltale, nor a crybaby. He can do his on his own. He will be strong, like Thor.

 “Yes, Mother.” he says, because it will make her feel better.

 “Good.” She walks up to him and kisses his forehead. “I will not go back on my decision, but do not think I love you any less. I do this for your sake, Loki, even if you dislike it. I hope we will be able to move past these talks one day.” She takes his hand. “Come on, then, let’s go to your room.”

 He takes her hand, still sniffling.

 

* * *

 

 

 It’s been two days since he has been grounded.

 It is remarkably unpleasant.

 There is not much to do here: a few books (he has read them all twice), a board game (useless when you’re alone), a sofa and a bed (and he is absolutely not tired).

 Mother was right, there isn’t much else to do but think.

 He isn’t sorry about what he did, not really. He still thinks Freyja deserved it; she had clearly overreacted to the fountain incident. She was mean to him, so he was mean to her back.

 Except he knew he would get in trouble when he did it. He knew Mother would be disappointed. (He doesn’t even want to think about Father’s reaction). He knew…but he did it anyway.

 Because it hurt.

 It’s all Freyja’s fault, really! If she hadn’t… if she had been nicer, then he wouldn’t have done anything. She deserved it! Mother said she knew how she treated him. That means she agrees with him, no?

 But he was still being punished…

 “Aaaaaagh” Loki moans. He muffles his head in his pillow. “It’s so unfair!”

  _I agree._

His head shoot up. No, not again, no…

_Please, calm down dear boy! I mean you no harm._

 He glances towards the door. Surely, he should call the guards again…?

 No, no he shouldn’t. It’s fine, all fine. He breathes in and out.

 No need to call anyone, he can handle this.

  _Good, very good my boy,_ the voice continues, _I am sorry for scarring you last time. Truly, I only meant to talk._

 “Wh…What? Who are you?” Loki stammers.

  _Nothing of importance, really. Just a lonely, bodiless soul in search of company._

 “Don’t you have a name?” he asks, annoyed.

 The voice is…laughing? It feels like it, even though he doesn’t here any actual laughter. More like a reverberation in the back of his mind. It’s all very confusing.

  _No, child I do not have a name,_ it says. _One can only be named by those who have created it, and I am eternal. I have neither father nor mother, and there are no peers of mine within all of Yggdrasil. I stand alone and above, and therefore none may name me._

 Loki blinks.

 With what feels very much like a sigh, the voice says, _I do not have a name, nor do I care to have one. You may simply refer to me as “you”._

“Oh” A pause. “Alright then…” It is then that Loki remembers he should be annoyed. “Why did you barge in – no, not barge in – why did you just…start talking to me like that? It was…it was…rude!”

 That did not come out nearly as well as Loki hoped. Worse still is that the voice sounds entirely too composed.

  _Ah, yes, I must apologize once again for that incident. I’m afraid I got…carried away by my excitement at finding another soul to talk to. It was extremely rude of me._

“Another soul…? But the palace is filled with people! It doesn’t make sense.”

  _It was a peculiar form of loneliness. For a long time I saw countless of men and women walk these halls, and yet I could not reach them. Try as I may, I could not get them to hear me, and so it went for many years. When I discovered you could hear me…well, my emotions got the better of me. Truly, I apologize._

“It’s okay” Loki says automatically. It felt nice, not being the one to do the apologizing. “It’s just…you frightened me.”

_And I am truly sorry about that, my boy. I had grown quite lonely all this time, and to suddenly see you do what no one else has done before, well…It was extraordinary._

 Loki preens. “Really?”

_Yes, really, you must be exceptionally talented to manage such a feat._

 He is beaming with pride. “Thank you!”

 Oh, Thor will be so jealous! And Mother and Father will be so proud, once he tells them!

 With a renewed eagerness that goes against his initial wariness, he asks “What do you want anyway? Why talk to me?”

_I want nothing, my boy! Nothing but the pleasure of your company! Why would you think I possess an ulterior motive?_

 Loki stills at this. “No, no reason, it’s just I….It’s nothing.”

_I promise you, I want nothing from you apart from your conversation. As I have told you, I have grown lonely, and could use a … friend. I do not have any, you see._

 Loki winces at that. He has Baldr, and Thor sometimes, but no one else apart from that, and it isn’t very much. To have none at all…it must be awful. “I’m sorry.”

  _No need for that, my dear, for things may very well change! If you desire it of course…_

“Huh?”

  _I had rather hopped you would accept being…friends, with me. I realize of course it is perhaps too much to ask for… I am nothing more than a voice to you, why would you accept? It’s just…You are my only chance at companionship, and I had hoped…Foolishly, perhaps?_

 “No, no, not at all!” Loki rushes in. “Don’t worry a bit, of course I’ll be friends with you!”

  _Truly?_

“Yes, yes! I completely understand!” he says in the most soothing tone he can manage. “I don’t have many friends either, you know… so I understand.”

_Is that why I find you lone right now?_

 “Oh no, that’s because I’m grounded.”

_Grounded? Why in the world?_

 And so Loki explains everything to him, from the initial episode with the fountain all the way to his current punishment. The voice asks questions in all the right places, and when the tale is done it intervenes.

_It seems to me that the Lady Freyja was woefully unreasonable._

“Wasn’t she?” Loki exclaims.

_Indeed she was. Retribution was not uncalled for, I believe, no matter what others may think._

 “Mother was very upset with me, and Baldr told me I shouldn’t have done it.” Loki frowns at this. “I am not supposed to go see him, because I am not to leave my room. I don’t think I should be talking to you, either, really…”

  _Ah, well, we are not breaking any rules, are we, since we are in your room? Besides,_ the voice takes on a conspiratorial tone, _what is a little secret between friends?_

 Loki giggles, then sobers up a little. “Are you sure..?” It is an awfully tempting offer.

  _What harm could it do? As long as you don’t tell anyone, no one will ever know. Besides, I believe we both have need to fight against crippling boredom._

 That sells it for Loki. “Okay, then… What is it you want to do?” The options were very limited in his room, especially when his partner was a disembodied voice.

  _We could just talk for a while. Why not tell me about yourself?_

 Loki hums in agreement and settles down on his bed.

 And so the rest of the day is spent in the company of his newly acquired friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am trying very hard not to rush or be heavy-handed, but I may have failed. Let me know, so I can correct that!
> 
> The goal is still 2 chapters a month, but this December is going to be very busy for e so we'll see how it goes.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Beta reader, all mistakes are mine.

 The rest of the week went by quickly all things considered, Loki thinks. It makes sense: he has spent it in the constant company of the voice.

 He would spend his days in his room, talking with his friend. The voice was a fantastic listener. It would listen without interruption as the young boy went on about Thor, his studies, and anything else that crossed his mind. It never seemed to grow tired or bored, and as such Loki could continue talking for hours.

 In fact, the only time he wasn’t talking with it was during classes or whenever Mother was present. The last thing he needed was for her to find out he had a way out of his supposed isolation. His punishment would be extended and worsened; a terrible thought, since he had managed to make her so happy with him.

 On the third day of his punishment, he had requested to seeing the Lady Freyja. Mother had raised her eyebrows, but complied. While she was gone, he had practiced a small speech the voice had helped him prepare.

  _There is an easy way to lie to others: as often as you can, you must use the truth, or at least a part of it,_ it had said. _If you do that, others will not able to see your deceit, for you would be telling no true lie at all._

 It was brilliant advice, advice Loki had vowed to follow in the future. The voice went on:

  _Appear to make amends with the Lady, and you will gain your parents favors, I promise you._

 He didn’t really want to apologize, but after some convincing, he decided to give it a try, see if the voice was right. And so, once Mother had returned with the Lady, he had said:

 “My Lady,” Loki had said, “my actions were done under the influence of feelings I should not have felt. I am truly sorry about recent events. I can assure you, I will never put you in such a situation again. Please, accept my apologies.”

 In truth, Freyja had no choice but to accept, as doing otherwise would be a show pettiness unbecoming an adult, much less a woman of the court. She received his apology as curtly as possible, before leaving in a quite huff. In didn’t matter to Loki, as the real purpose of the speech had been met: his mother was smiling at him. Ruffling his hair, she had expressed her pride at his “spontaneous gesture” and “display of maturity”.

 Mealtimes were a much more pleasant affair after that.

 This evening is the last of his punishment, Loki thinks with glee. He hadn’t realized how much he enjoyed having free reigns within the castle before it was taken away from him.

 He is just about to initiate a new conversation about what he will do with his newfound freedom when he hears the door open. Startled, he turns around and almost yelps at what he sees.

 Father had returned from Nidavellir.

 With an excited cry, he runs into his arms and hugs him. Father chuckles as he lifts him up.

 “Good evening to you too, Loki my boy!” he says with a smile.

 Loki beams at him and kisses his cheek.

 “It appears I have been missed!” Father walks towards the bed and sets them both down. “This makes an old man quite glad, I must say.”

 “You were gone for soooo long!” Loki moans. “I haven’t seen you in three weeks!”

 “Ah, but I’ve heard you’ve found some way to keep yourself busy.” Father says pointedly. “Is that not why I find you in your room?”

 Loki blushes at this, then looks away, his enthusiasm dimed. Did Father come only to yell at him?

 “Do you look away in embarrassment or in fear of my judgment?” he goes on. “Your Mother told me all about your little prank. I must say, I agree with her decision to restrict you here.” Lips trembling, Loki nods. He had really hoped he wouldn’t have to go through this again. Unfortunately, it seems bound to happen again.

 “However, I must compliment you on your apology to the Lady Freyja.” Loki’s head snaps up. “It was a great display of maturity, and showed you were capable of reflecting on your behavior. More than that, you admitted to being wrong.” Father chuckles at this. “I believe you to be quite like me, my son, so I know it must have been quite hard for you to do.”

 Loki eyes widen. This is not going at all as he thought it would.

 “It is all very commendable, my boy.” Father looks straight at him and says with a smile. “I am proud of you for that.”

  Loki’s mind goes blank. He has the urge to fidget, but seems to be frozen in place. He feels his cheek reddening, his mouth is somewhere between smiling and hanging open in shock.

 Eventually, though, he manages to stammer out, “Th-thank you, Father”.

 His father ruffles his hair. “You are very welcome, my son. This is an encouragement for maturity. Do not think you can always get away with every prank by apologizing.”

 No, he’ll get away with them by not getting caught. But that is obviously not what he want to hear. “Yes Father.”

 “Good.” Father replies. “There is another matter I want to discuss. Your mother mentioned you were interested in learning how to wield seidr?”

 Wary once more, Loki nods.

 “I see…” Father trails off, and Loki nervously waits for him to go on. He stays silent for a minute before continuing. “It is a difficult art, one that cannot be learned without complete dedication. Do you realize that?”

 “Yes…”

 “I know how enthusiastic you become in the face of something new. Are you certain this is not a passing whim of yours?”

 “No, no it isn’t!” Loki exclaims. Is he being tested?

 “Hmmm… We shall see.” Father mumbles. Then, we a clearer voice, he says, “It is a very worthy skill; a talented mage is hard to find and extremely valuable. I hadn’t thought any of my children would be interested, but if you are I will be glad to provide you with a tutor.”

 “However, it is important that you acquire a solid base of education before you go on to learning additional skills. For now, you will continue your studies and soon you will start weapons practice. If you can manage this, once you are one hundred years old you will start learning seidr wielding. How does that sound?”

  It sounds like more than he had hoped for. He had expected Father to tell him to become a warrior, like everyone else. He hadn’t expected…this

 Father is willing to let him use seidr. Father is encouraging him to do it.

 Loki was right. Seidr is the way to get closer to Father. He will make him proud.

 “Thank you, Father! I promise I’ll be able to do it!” he exclaims.

 “I trust you will, if you put your mind to it.” Father ruffles his hair. “You are a clever one, my son. Now, it is almost time for you to sleep, so I shall take my leave. Sleep well, my boy.”

 He gets up and walks towards the door. When he reaches it, he turns around one last time and says. “For your sake, I hope you do not get in trouble immediately after the end of your punishment. I imagine you are sick of this room.” And with a wink, he is gone.

 Loki stares at the door in shock.

  _Well, I must say, that went well,_ the voice intervenes.

 He doesn’t reply.

 After a moment, his friend goes on. _Are you alright, my boy?_

 Loki nods. “He said he was proud of me…” he whispers in awe.

  _Indeed he has._

“It was your idea, going up to the Lady Freyja…and my parents are so proud…” He beams. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

 The voice chuckles. _You are very welcome, my dear. Didn’t I tell you to trust me?_

“You were right! Thank you, thank you!” he babbles. “And he said I could learn to use seidr, I’m going to have a teacher!” He shoulders slump a little. “Although I’ll have to wait thirty years for that…”

  _Not necessarily._

 He perks up at this. “What?”

_You don’t have to wait to start learning. It is not much, but I happen to know some things about seidr. I could teach you, if you like._

 Loki would like that very much, but… “Father said I should wait…”

  _Ah, yes he did. I simply thought you wanted to learn in advance._

 “I’m not supposed to, I don’t want to get in trouble again…” Not so soon after his punishment is lifted.

 A pause. _I see… I thought you would appreciate my offer, but I suppose that if you want to wait…_

 “No, I don’t want to wait!” he exclaims. “It’s very kind of you, really.”

  _So you accept?_

 “I…” It is awfully tempting, and thirty years is such a long time… “If Father finds out…”

  _Well, if that is what worries you, we can keep it a secret. We’ll be careful. If you don’t tell, he’ll never know._

_It will be easy, my boy, as long as they never know of my existence._

 “I suppose…”

  _Thirty years of training can go a long way, even at your age._ _I imagine the All-Father will be quite surprised. Seeing you so well verse in seidr with no apparent training. It would be impressive._

 It would be, wouldn’t it?

 “Okay” he says. “Okay. When do we start?

  _Eager are we? Not today, I think. Your father is right, you must sleep._

 “But…”

  _Trust me, my boy. You did it before and it worked out well, didn’t it?_

“…yes” he mumbles.

  _Then go to sleep. We will start two weeks from now._

 Grudgingly, Loki does as he is told. As he slips himself into the sheets, the voice speaks up one last time.

  _There’s my good boy._

  Loki smiles. “Good night.” He mumbles.

 He is asleep within the hour.

 

* * *

 

 

 The next morning, he is cheerily eating breakfast with Thor. His brother has been rather silent for the first part of the meal, but he speaks up once their mother excuses herself. Father had already been long gone.

 “Loki,” he starts, “Father and Mother would kill me if they found out, but… I thought what you did to Freyja was hilarious.” He chuckles.

 Loki stares at him in wonder. “Really?”

 “Yes” his brother snickers. “You couldn’t see it, because you were in your room, but….” He laughs in earnest. “The dye didn’t come off until four days, and she would barely come out of her chambers. And…and she tried to...” He is laughing so hard he cannot finish his sentence.

 “She what? What did she do?” Loki asks eagerly.

 “She tried…ha ha…she tried to dye her hair back to blonde, but she didn’t want the servants to help her because she didn’t want anyone to know. So she tried to do it on her own.” His brother cracks up once more. “You should have seen it Loki! She messed up, so her hair was covered in orange spots, more than the red ones before.” Thor is almost folded in half. “She ran to the servants lounge almost in tears.”

 Loki is laughing as hard as his brother. He can’t believe he missed that. Oh, this makes her reaction to his apology even sweeter.

 After five minutes, he manages to calm down enough to force out. “Did… do our parents know?”

 “Yes, but they don’t blame you. You didn’t force her to do any of it.” Thor sighs contently. “Ah, it was great.”

 Loki beams at his brother. He will deny it fiercely if anyone asks, but this kind of approval makes him feel ecstatic.

 “Well,” he says, “I hope my next act will be as successful.”

 “You’re never going to stop, are you?” Thor asks fondly. “That’s great. It makes the palace so much funnier. Do you think you could go after my tutor next time?” he asks, crunching his nose.

 “Maybe, if you give me a good reason to.” Loki replies teasingly.

 “Aww, come on! Falr is so annoying! He makes me learn all these maps, they are sooo boring.” His brother pleads.

 “They will be useful if you ever plan to go on quests.” He replies, just to be contrary.

 “Stop that.” His brother knows him very well, it seems. “It’ll be funny, and you won’t get caught this time. He’ll never figure out it’s you, he too stupid.”

 Loki pauses at that.

 How did he get caught? He is sure he wasn’t seen, he had chosen his time carefully. So how did Freyja know? What tipped her off?

 He’ll have to find out, if only not to repeat the same mistake twice.

Eventually, Thor gets up. “Anyway, I have to go see that old goat now. Hopefully, I won’t die of boredom!” He sighs dramatically.

 Loki giggles.

 His brother flashes a smile before leaving the room. Loki follows shortly after, going to find Baldr.

 

* * *

 

 

 The two weeks went by quickly enough.

 Of course, not everyone was as enthusiastic about his prank as Thor was. Baldr was the worst of them. He had tried ten times to make Loki promise never to do something like that again. He had only succeeded in getting him to wait a month. His brother wasn’t too pleased.

 In truth, though, Baldr was infuriating. So many lecture, so much nagging, Loki quickly became sick of it. Plus, his friend was always fidgeting around him now, looking at him sideways whenever he thought Loki wouldn’t see.

 Had he really been bothered that much by the prank? That was almost worrisome.

 In the end, Loki became quickly too aggravated to spend time with Baldr, and so the rest of the week was in the company of the voice. As usual, they talked about everything, spending a great deal of time preparing the next prank. The voice had some truly great ideas.

 Now, though, it was time for his first lesson, and he could barely stay still.

 “Are we starting yet?” he moans.

  _Do not whine, boy, it is unbecoming. I may withhold my knowledge if you continue._

 Loki’s first instinct is to protest, but upon consideration he doesn’t want to risk it.

 “I’m sorry,” he mumble.

  _Good. Then we shall begin. Get yourself comfortable._

 Loki does so.

_Do you know what seidr is, for a start?_

 Loki blinks. “The Bifröst is seidr, so is Gungnir…”

  _Those are manifestations, not actual seidr. You really don’t know anything, do you?_

He blushes in embarrassment, but says nothing. The comment stings.

  _I will have to start with the very basics, then. Seidr is energy, invisible and omnipresent. It is woven into the universe. To wield seidr is to reach out for that energy, feel it, and mold it to your will._

“Can you do what you want with it?” he asks, entranced.

  _In a manner of speaking. A warrior may favor the axe over the sword, the same for a mage. Not everyone is well versed in every aspect of seidrmanship._

_Now, before you do anything more, it is vital that you feel seidr, to see what you will be your basic material. You must focus, and try to open your mind to it._

Loki tries, oh how hard he tries. He spends almost an hour on the floor, trying to do as the voice says. It’s just… he has no idea how. He tries breathing slowly, listening, he even tries to actually _see_ the seidr. (He is half expecting it to be some green light floating around him.) Nothing works.

 Eventually, the voice intervenes. _You are not doing well at all, are you?_

 “It’s hard…” he whines.

  _You won’t get anywhere without my help. Are you sure this isn’t too much for you?_

“Don’t make fun of me!” Loki snaps.

  _Do you want my help, or no? Or perhaps you simply want to wait until you have a tutor? I must say, it would leave to him the difficult task of teaching you._

“Stop it!” he cries.

  _No, I believe you should be the one to stop. You come to me for help, and you balk when I try to teach you. Do you want to learn?_

“Yes…”

  _Then trust me in this and do as I say._

Loki pouts, defeated. “Okay,” he mumbles.

  _Good then. I will allow you to feel seidr, but for that, we must link our minds._

 That’s not what he was expecting. “What?”

 The voice sighs. _Link our minds. I need for you to give me access, so that I can help you._

 “You want to…to go into my mind?”

  _It is what I said, yes._

 Loki feels incredibly destabilized. “Is it …will it be forever?”

  _Why, yes, I will not be able to reverse the process._

 He is really wary about this. “I don’t know…”

  _Why not?_

 Loki gulps. “It’s just…mind reading…”

  _Didn’t you just say you wanted to learn?_

 “Yes, but…”

  _Do you not trust me then?_

“You never said you could read minds!” he bursts out.

  _I never had cause to. Why bring it up?_

 “You should have said something!” Loki cries. “You told me… you made me think… You lied to me!”

 _How dare you!_ , the voice snaps. It is uncomfortable, having an angry presence in his mind. Loki dislikes it immensely, he decides. _I have done nothing but be honest with you. It is hurtful that you would suggest otherwise._

 The outrage in the tone is so strong it make Loki falter. “But…but you never said anything it, so…”

  _I have never said that I couldn’t! And why would I bring it up, since I had no plans on acting on that ability? It is your desire to learn, as well as your inability to feel seidr that forces me to resort to this._

Loki looks down. The voice isn’t wrong, is it?

  _You are jumping to conclusions. I would have thought you would listen to my side of things before judging me, but I see that it is too much to ask for. You have already decided I am in the wrong. It is useless for me to try._

That resonates a little too deeply within him. The accusations hurt his pride, but he can still relate to what the voice is saying. He thinks of Thor teasing him about seidr, of being punished for being mean to Freyja but Freyja not being punished for being mean to him. He remembers not even trying to convince Aunnson. The voice is friendly, he knows that now, but still at the time he had truly been scared.

 He bristles, but does not want to prove his friend right. “I didn’t say that”, he states slowly, “but I don’t know why you didn’t tell me.”

 There is a pregnant pause. Loki hold his breath in anticipation.

  _In truth, I was frightened,_ the voice replies. _This ability is very much part of who I am, and once activated I will always have a reach in your mind. I realize it makes you uncomfortable, and that is why I stayed silent. I was certain that if you knew, you would push me away, leaving me alone once more. I could not have bared such harshness._

Loki frowns. “I wouldn’t have just abandoned you…” He is much more hesitant in his anger now.

_I want to trust you, my child, but it is difficult. Do you not see? You are the only one I may talk to, I would be very lonely without you. You understand why I try so hard to preserve this friendship?_

He remembers a week ago, when Baldr was his only friend. He felt so dejected when he couldn’t find him…

  _I have done something to displease you, and now you attack me. Perhaps you cannot accept me as your friend, for I am too different?_

Loki’s throat tightens with guilt. “No, I…”

_I understand that such abilities may be repulsive to you. Alas, I cannot change, even if you wish for me to…_

 Loki can relate to that as well, people wanting you to change. ( _“You can’t be a mage!” Thor said)_

 He feels awful, absolutely rotten. “I don’t!” he says quickly! “You don’t have to change! I was just startled, that’s all!”

  _It is kind of you. So kind. However…_

 “What, what is there?” The voice must know he means it, right? He understands, really!

  _I know, I know you understand. You are such a good boy._ Loki relaxes a little at this. _It is just…Well, theory and practice are often very different. You may understand my struggle, but can you truly go on knowing I will be in your mind at all times? I would need you to trust me, completely. It is perhaps too much to ask._

 “No it isn’t!” the boy exclaims. “You have been very kind to me, you’ve helped me with Freyja, with my punishment! I trust you!”

  _Truly?_

“Yes, I trust you!” he says with as much conviction as he can muster. “I swear, I trust you!”

  _Then I am glad._

Loki’s elbows sag in relief. The voice sounds unconvinced, but it’s something.  He’ll just have to prove it later on.

  _Do you believe I will never abuse the influence I will have over you?_

“Yes, yes…” he hesitates before adding. “What will you be able to do?”

  _I will have access to your thoughts, as well as your emotions. It is necessary, in order to teach you, to have control over your feelings._

Loki says nothing for a while, before breathing. “Okay,” he mumbles. “Okay.”

  _Thank you, my sweet._

 He waits, and waits.

 Nothing happens.

 “Is that it?” he asks, startled.

  _Why of course, my child. I would not hurt you unnecessarily._

 Relief floods through him. That wasn’t that bad.

  _Now, in a moment, I will show you seidr. Be ready._

Loki waits, not sure what to expect. And then… he _feels_ it.

 It is unlike anything he has ever felt before. It is something warm and electric, buzzing and vibrating. He tries to reach out to it, and feels his fingers being repulsed by the energy, like trying to force together two magnets. He twists his wrist, and the energy follows, forming a whirlpool around his hand. He giggles.

 There is no color to speak of, but he feels the tingling and he thinks of green. He hears yellow, tastes blue. He moves his arms and sees music.

 It’s too much, too overwhelming. He never wants it to stop.

 He is young, but he knows he will never see anything like it in his entire life.

 All too soon, it disappears, leaving him craving for more.

 “Please! One more time!” he begs.

  _Ah child, but you must learn. I have shown you what to look for, now go ahead and search._

Disappointed, but still giddy, he settles down. He will do whatever it takes to feel that again.

 His lessons last well into the evening.

 

* * *

 

 

 The next morning, Loki is stull buzzing with excitement. What will he do, once he learns all he needs to?

 Of course, he will send an illusion besides Father at all times, that is the point of the whole thing. But beside that? He thinks of all the pranks he will do. Seidr offers so many possibilities!

 This leads back to the question that he still hasn’t answered. How did he get caught? He cannot think of any sort of evidence he has left behind.

  _I understand why you would worry, my boy._

Loki jumps. “You saw that?”

  _Why yes, it is as I have warned you._

 Right, right. He didn’t even feel his friend in his mind though. It is a bit unnerving.

  _I have given it much thought as well,_ the voice goes on, _and I believe I may have an idea._

 “What? What is it?”

  _You did not leave any evidence, so there is only one way Freyja could have known…_

“How?” he asks, alarmed.

  _Simply put, she must have been told by someone she trusts._

“But no one was there!” he exclaims. “I made sure of that!”

  _Ah, yes, that is true… Are you sure no one else could have known?_

Yes, he is sure. He had organized the prank alone, had stayed clear until the deed was done. He had told no one about it, no one…

 Except Baldr.

 But Baldr wouldn’t do that! He was his friend! A little (very) uptight, but still his friend.

  _Ah indeed, it is very surprising? Are you sure there is no one else?_

  No, he had told no one else, not before getting punished. But it couldn’t be Baldr…

  He remembers though. Baldr had been near the Lady’s quarters. Baldr had known how furious the Lady was.

  He had been punished right after he had confessed to him.

  He feels his blood boiling. What had she said? “A reliable source…”

  It had to be him. He feels his blood boiling.

 That snitch! That traitor! He…he… how could he?

 He runs out of his room.

  _Wait, my boy!_

 He pays the voice no mind. He runs to the square courtyard, narrowly dodging every servant he sees until he finds Baldr, that snake!

 “You!” he yells.

 His not-so-friend turns to him, and immediately goes pale. “Loki…”

 “You told on me! It was you!” he shouts. “I know it was! How could you?”

 “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Baldr babbles. “Freyja called me in the morning, and she said she knew it was you and that she knew we were friends. She said that if I didn’t tell her what I knew, she would make sure I get in just as much trouble.” His eyes start tearing up. “I hate being punished, I am no good with trouble! Please, Loki, I’m sorry!”

 “She never would have had any proof if you hadn’t told her anything! You ruined everything!”

 “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry!” he is crying now. “Please, forgive me!”

 Loki hesitates. Baldr really does look sorry, and Freyja can be so scary some times. Maybe he should…

 But no, his anger surges right back up. He is a traitor! He shouldn’t forgive him!

 He stares at his friend as coldly as he is capable of.

 “No, no I won’t!” he yells. “I don’t want to see you ever again!”

 And he runs back to his room, leaving Baldr crying out after him.

 

* * *

 

 

 He had cried on his bed for hours. He is so angry at himself for that.

 It’s just…. The betrayal stings. More so because Baldr is one of his only friends apart from Thor, and his brother doesn’t really count.

He should have known! It was so obvious! Baldr’s behavior after his grounding, he was waiting for him to find out!

 He never would have said anything, he is sure of it. He would have rather get punished with his friend than denounce him.

 Except he never would have had to tell on Baldr because Baldr would never do anything out of line.

 He groans in the pillow. What did he expect really?

 He shouldn’t have said anything to him.

  _I agree, lovely child, I agree._

Loki sighs. Once again, he hadn’t felt the voice in his head, but he is too exhausted emotionally to care. He’ll get used to it soon enough.

 “He betrayed me…”

  _I know, my boy, I know._

“He’s my friend…” he sobs.

  _I believe he has proven otherwise, don’t you._

What?

  _No true friend would ever dare commit such an act of betrayal._

“But…” He doesn’t like that thought. He is angry, of course he is, but to say Baldr isn’t his friend…

 He has so few of them, he really doesn’t want to lose one.

  “He didn’t want to get in trouble, that’s all…” he says weakly.

  _So he is more concerned about himself than about you. I do not find that friendly, do you?_

 “He said he was sorry.” Odd, how he is defending him when seconds ago he was cursing him in his mind. But when confronted with the possibility that Baldr was never his friend, he finds he doesn’t want to believe it.

 The voice is unmoved. _Oh, yes, I am certain he is sorry he got caught._ The tone is unforgiving, and Loki feels himself tear up again.

  _That he would do such a thing, and that he would not even have the decency to confess…No, I do not think he is a true friend at all._

 “Why are you saying this?” Loki yells. Then he falls back on his pillow, crying once more.

 A few moments later he feels a hand in his hair, and warmth all around him. It reminds him of Mother, and he knows this is the voice’s equivalent of a hug.

  _I hate to see you hurt, Loki-mine,_ it croons, _and so I wish to prevent you from further harm. This boy harmed you, and will do so again. I wish you could see that._

He shakes his head. “He said he was sorry…He won’t do it again.”

  _Oh but he will. It is in the nature of a betrayer. He will do it again, no matter what he says, because it is in his nature._

_You do tricks, don’t you, my Loki?_

 Confused by the apparent non-sequitur, Loki nods.

  _And you have promised many times to stop. Did you truly intend to do so?_

 Oh. This is where it is going. He shakes his head.

  _So what makes you believe that Baldr will?_ The voice is cajoling, but firm.

It makes sense, so much sense. Baldr was never comfortable with his pranks, never felt the amusement Loki expected when he told him.

  _You will not be able to confide in him. You will not be able to act without him spying._

_You will not be able to trust him._

Loki cries bitterly.

  _Why seek his friendship?_

“I don’t…I don’t want to…to be alone!” he hiccups.

 He feels a phantom kiss of his brown, a hand caressing his cheek.

  _But you are not alone, my boy._

The feeling of warmth rises, and he feels himself completely give into it.

  _I am here, Loki, my sweet. I will always be here, for as long as you need me. You know that, don’t you?_

 Feeling very detached, he nods. It’s true, the voice had never left.

  _I have proven that you can trust me, time and time again, haven’t I?_

Yes, it had. So many times now.

_I love you, my boy. You must know that. I would never wish you harm, never do anything that wasn’t in your best interest. Do you trust me boy?_

“Yes.” He whispers, automatically.

   _Do you trust me to take care of you? To look out for you?_

 When had it done anything apart from that? The voice had been so good to him these past weeks, had taught him magic, had talked to him when he was lonely.

 “Yes.”

  _Then trust me when I say this boy will do you no good. You should not seek out his company._

He nods once more, feeling completely drained.

 The voice croons. _Oh, my dear, I know it is hard to be betrayed like that. But I am here for you. I will be whatever you need._

“Please don’t leave,” he whispers.

  _Never._

Loki smiles slightly and clings to the warmth.

 

* * *

 

For the rest of the week, every time he sees Baldr, he pointedly ignores him.

 His true friend pats him approvingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative tittle: The Casket lies, and Loki cries.
> 
> Slightly longer chapter here, which will hopefully make up for the lack of updates this month. My exams are in two weeks, and after that I have no idea how busy I am going to be. But I don't think I'll have much time.
> 
> I have a series on one-shots, so I'll be dividing my writing time between the two stories. Still, In winter's care will receive about 75% of my attention. I am determined to finish this. 
> 
> Anyway, that's it for now. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, all mistakes are mine.

 

 The walk from his room to the library is a long one, but one he has done many times. Because of that, he is hardly aware of his surroundings as he talks with his friend. He talks in a whisper; he could technically just think his part of the conversation, but it feels too awkward for him to do so.

 “But if there are so many more worlds than nine, why is Yggdrasil not bigger?” he wonders.

  _What came first, the realms or Yggdrasil?_ His friend has a hard time answering questions directly.

 “Huh…” he pauses. Then mumbles, “I don’t know.”

  _The answer would be both, or neither. The nine realms shape Yggdrasil, just as Yggdrasil keeps the nine realms aligned. Now, how do you think this is done?_

It is a common occurrence when Loki inquires something. The voice would guide his reasoning through questions until Loki comes to the correct conclusion. The process was annoying at first – he does not like waiting for information. However, he can’t deny the feeling of accomplishment that came with finding the answer on his own. Now, he almost looks forward to these conversations. (He hates when he fails to find the correct answer; his friend gets most disappointed).

 “Seidr, isn’t it?” he says. “It is the very core of the world tree.”

  _Very good, my boy, very good._

 Loki basks in the praise as the voice goes on.

  _So, if the realms are held together by seidr from Yggdrasil, and Yggdrasil itself is shaped by the realms, then what would these nine worlds have in common?_

He thinks hard on this one. He can only think of one answer, but it is stupid. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, but his friend is still waiting. He doesn’t want to sound like an idiot, doesn’t want the voice to think him stupid, and so he blurts out the only thing he can think of. “Seidr.”

  _Precisely, of all the worlds in the universe, the Nine Realms are the only ones in which seidr is woven into their very being._

“But, Midgard…”

  _Midgard has a deep core of seidr, although it is unused. Most of its inhabitants cannot feel it, a few are aware of it and only a couple can wield it. But the seidr is there, and so it contributes to Yggdrasil._

_That is why Yggdrasil is only made of nine realms. They are all linked through seidr, unlike the rest of the universe._

Loki takes some time to let it all sink in. The notion was dizzying, in a way: the uniqueness of the nine realms clearly stated, the importance of seidr in the very fabric of the world they live in…

 It makes him want to learn how to use it even more. What he could do… what he could show his parents…

 He is so wrapped in thought he doesn’t notice someone is behind him until he feels a hand on his shoulders. Startled, he spins around, then glares.

 Baldr.

 He had managed to avoid the boy for nearly a month, with much difficulty. He was so relentless in trying to talk to him. Why couldn’t he just leave him alone?

 “Loki, please, I want to talk to you…”

 “Well I don’t!” Loki snarls back. “So go away!”

 He tries storming off, but Baldr follows.

“Please Loki, I’m sorry! I really am!”

 “I don’t care!”

 “I won’t do it again!”

 Loki pauses at that, then turns around, murder in his eyes. He will not fall for this, he will not misplace his trust again.

  _Good boy, my Loki, good boy…_

“You will,” he says. “You will, because you are too scared of being in trouble, too scared of being caught.” It’s true, he sees that now. “You’ll always be spying on me, I can’t trust you!”

 Baldr looks away, tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, so sorry… Please give me a chance…”

 “You already had a chance, you blew it.” He will not budge on this.

 Except Baldr is looking up at him again, his eyes shining with tears. They are so blue, so candid in their sorrow. “I promise I won’t do it again,” he whispers. He takes a step forward; Loki doesn’t have the heart to take a step back. “Please give me a chance...” he says. And oh, his lips are quivering, he is giving him that look, the kind he has so much trouble saying no to… “I miss you, Loki.”

 Loki believes him.

  _Are you truly so weak-willed, boy?_

And he shouldn’t, because Baldr betrayed him once, will do it again, and Can. Not. Be. Trusted!

 “Too bad!” he shouts, stumbling away. “It’s your fault, and I don’t want to see you again.”

 His ex-friend gasps. “But, Loki…” He tries to reach out for him.

 “Never again!” the prince cries out, before storming away once more.

 This time he isn’t followed.

He is lying in bed, in his friends embrace. It used to be odd to him, the feeling of hands and arms around him without any material limb in sight. Now, however, he has grown too used to it to be bothered.

 It is peaceful like this. The silence in his room combined with the subtle presence within his mind is usually enough to lull him to sleep. Tonight however, he is too restless for that.

 As usual, his friend perceives something is wrong. Mind reading would do that, he supposes.

  _Is everything alright, Loki?_

 He flips over to his side, dragging the sheets with him. “I’m nervous”, he mumbles.

  _I see,_ the voice goes on, _whatever about?_

 In truth, his friend could probably read his mind and find out. However, he usually asks questions and waits for answers instead, giving conversations as much normalcy as possible. Loki is grateful for that.

 “It’s just… I’m starting fighting practice tomorrow.” Just thinking about it is enough to make the prince curl onto himself. “What if I’m no good at it?”

  The thought is terrifying to him, which makes him feel foolish. His cheeks redden.

 A hand strokes his cheek, a kiss on the top of his head. _Do not be embarrassed, my boy, such nervousness is perfectly normal._ This soothes him a little. _Some may say it is even commendable, it shows your desire to do well._

“I guess…” he trails off. “But what if…?”

  _We will have to wait and see how well you fare,_ it goes on. _I am certain things will not be catastrophic, in any case. Do not worry so much._

He can see the sense in those words, but it isn’t quite enough. “Warriors need to be the best.”

  _Ah, but you are not to be a warrior, but a mage, remember?_ The voice is teasing, but it is in a friendly manner, so it’s fine.

 Loki smiles at this. “Can’t I be both?” he asks, amused.

  _If you so wish._ The voice takes on a dramatic tone. _Loki Odinson, the warrior-mage of Asgard. Yggdrasil shall tremble._

He laughs at that. “It will happen, you’ll see!”

  _Oh, I do not doubt it,_ his friend says in good humor. _Although I do hope you have no plans of being a blacksmith as well. That would be a mouthful of a tittle._

He laughs some more, accumulated stress seeping out of him as he does. He sighs contently, then roles back onto his back.

 “I’ll be off to a bad start if I can’t even sleep!” he states.

   _I can help with that._

He lifts his head up. “Huh?”

  _If it is nervousness that bothers you, then I can help you relax if you wish._

He ponders it for a moment. “Sure…?” he asks tentatively.

 Almost immediately, a wave of calm surges through him. His limbs relax, his heart beat slows and ugh! He needed this!

 He is melting in the sheets, feeling so content right now he has a hard time believing he had ever been nervous.

 Before sleep takes him, he sends a silent thank you to the voice.

 His friend was just the _best_ sometimes.

 

* * *

 

  

  _Again._

 Loki groans. It is the tenth time today that he will be attempting to sense seidr. He is tired, having been trying for hours. He is close, he knows that, he is now getting glimpses of what he felt all those years ago. He is close, but not succeeding, and the continued failure is frustrating.

 “Do I have to do this?” he whines. “It’s all I have ever been doing, and it has been so long! I asked Mother, she said people didn’t try to feel seidr at all. Why do I have to do it?”

  _Do you trust me, boy?_

“Yes, but…”

  _Then trust that I know what I am doing. You have very nearly succeeded last time, you mustn’t abandon now._

 “I’m not giving up!” he protests. “It’s just… can’t we wait a little?”

  _Why yes, I suppose we could!_ The voice has taken a sarcastic tone, not unlike the one Loki has started to adopt. _You are ninety already, why, in only ten years you will begin your tutoring! I am sure we can spend the time playing tigers and goats._

 Well, no, they can’t, because his friend has access to his thoughts and will therefore be cheating. But that’s not the point. “I don’t want to wait that long! I just… do we have to do this? Can’t I just learn how to cast spells instead?”

  _You do wish for my help, don’t you?_

 Ugh, not this again. Why can’t he just get a straight answer? Still, he plays along. “Yes.” He groans out.

  _Then if it is my help you seek, whose method would I use?_

 “You own.” He sighs. When put this way, it makes more sense to him. Doesn’t mean he likes it, though.

_Precisely. And my method is to make you feel seidr._

He says nothing in return, but is positively reeking of discontentment.

 He feels a sigh in his mind before the voice speaks again. _I do not do it to displease you, my child. I do it because once you feel it for yourself, you will truly understand what it is you seek to wield. Such insight will help you greatly when the time comes to cast a spell. The best forgers know intimately the metal they shape._

_Those who do not go through this do not comprehend what they are doing, and they are weaker for it. With my method, you will rise above them, and your spells will be more precise, swift and lethal than they could ever hope to match. Do you still wish to learn as they do?_

He blanches when he hears this. He has to be the best at what he does, needs to blow them all out of the water. He is good at learning, but knowing history or literature never helped anyone in a fight. And fighting is what matters right now.

 When Thor had started his lessons, he had immediately exceled, as everyone predicted. His brother was just so _good_ at it: he may lack patience when it comes to learning actual moves, but his instincts more than make up for it. His enthusiasm is also a strength, for he is able to stay for hours inside the training ring if no one comes for him. Thor is excellent.

 Loki isn’t.

 Oh, he is by no means terrible, if only because of his obstinate refusal to be so. He grits his teeth as he runs, jumps, builds the strength he will need further in his training. He listens diligently to his instructor, bears the sweat and dirt that clings to him. He is a more than adequate trainee, but it isn’t enough.

 He knows, just _knows,_ that he could excel in magic. Hadn’t the voice said as much? With its help, he could become the greatest mage in all the realms, like his father before him.

 He doesn’t want to give up just because things are difficult. That is not the ways of the Aesir.

 His father would be disappointed if he knew (of course, he can’t ever know Loki starting learning before he was supposed to in the first place, but that wasn’t the point.)

 And so, he settles back down, closes his eyes, and tries to feel seidr once more. His can feel his friend’s approval in his mind.

  _I am very proud of you, my boy._

 Loki smiles, his chest filled with warmth.

 

* * *

 

 

 “Loki, may I come in?”

 He looks up, startled. So focused was he on his book, he hadn’t noticed his mother standing in the doorway. Quickly, he tried hiding it behind his back, despite knowing it was pointless. She had been standing there for Norns know how long, surely she must have seen it.

 Inevitably, this only draws her attention to it. “What is that you’re reading, my son?”

 In his mind, the voice’s disapproval weighs heavily. He winces from it, even as he sends a silent apology to his friend. Fortunately, Mother misunderstands the gesture, for she only chuckles. “I have a fair idea of what it is, Loki, you need not worry about attracting my anger.”

 That is surprising. The voice had been adamant that none should know about it

 He looks up to her with a sheepish smile, the kind he knows endears him to her. Then, he slowly retrieves the book and shows her the front cover.

 “ _Objects of power: the craftsmanship of seidr,_ by Eitri Rangison.” She reads out, surprised. “Do you even understand half of it?”

 Not really, no, but that hadn’t been the point. The voice had encouraged him to steal it from the library, explaining that the artifacts within were an adequate example of how seidr could be weaved to form a larger whole, as with Yggdrasil. After all these years, it was still a concept that fascinated him.

  _Of course, you could not possibly understand it, but it is close enough,_ it had said. When Loki had objected, his friend stood firm.

  _Do not be silly, little boy, some things are simply beyond you. I, however, am willing to take the time to explain it so that you can understand to the best of your capacity. Is that not enough for you?_

 There was really only one answer. Loki had thanked him, of course, before greedily settling down.

 His mother was still looking at him, awaiting an answer. So he says, “Not completely, but…somewhat…”

 She smiles indulgently. “I sometimes forget how clever you can be.” Her face then grows more serious. “Clever, and also mischievous. That book was not to be removed from the library, which you very well know. Do not deny it, I saw you hide it as I entered.”

 Well of course he won’t deny it, he isn’t stupid. But he has more sense than saying that to his mother, so instead he adopts his best contrite expression. “It’s just… Father doesn’t want me learning about seidr yet, but it was really interesting… I wasn’t going to damage it…”

 She sighs. “I am not going to punish you, Loki, it is not what I came here to do.” She sits down in front of him. “I will say, however, that your Father has very good reasons for delaying your lessons. It may seem unfair to you at such a young age, but trust me when I say he does it for your own good.”

 For his own good. How Loki hates those words. So many restrictions on him “for his own good”.

 “Loki, I have instructed the staff to no longer give you cakes, it is for your own good.”

 “Loki, you may not go play near the weapon forge, it is for your own good.”

 “No Loki, you may not keep that baby biglesnipe, not even as a pet. Do not object, it is for your own good.”

 He still objects to that latest decision. He had planned on riding it once it had grown bigger. His friend had found it hilarious.

 Her hand on his cheek brings him back to the present. “I understand you are impatient, but that is no excuse for stealing from the library. Or from anywhere else,” she adds hastily. She knows him well. “You are not to do it again, or you will be punished for it. Do you hear me, Loki?”

 The answer is easy enough. “Yes, Mother.”

 It’s not a lie, he does understand; he simply hasn’t promised not to steal again.

  _You are a natural, my little snake._ His friend is clearly amused by it all. Loki smiles inwardly.

 “Good.” She says with a smile. He feels a small amount of guilt at that: she must know that he will do as he pleases, but she still gives him a chance every time. If he is completely honest with himself, she deserves for him to obey her.

  _And what do you deserve, dearest Loki?_

 He blinks. The question seems so incongruous to him. What is he supposed to answer?

 However, now is not the time to discuss this, for his mother is still in the room, and he has no desire to appear insane. It is the major problem with this situation: he can hardly prove the existence of a friend that cannot be seen or felt, and that only he can hear. There is no way he can present things without appearing either as a foolish child or just plain mad.

 The voice had explained it clearly: he can tell no one. There have been a couple times where he had been caught talking to the voice, which naturally made it appear as if he were talking to himself. In those situations, he of course had no other choice but to lie.

 This is their secret.

 “As I said, though, this is not why I came.” Mother smiles. “There is to be a delegation from Vanaheim arriving within the month, in order to celebrate the anniversary of the end of the war. One of the high lords has a daughter about your age, which he would like to bring along. Now, as a Prince of the realm, I hope you will be of good company to her during her stay.”

 He sniffs. “A girl? But Mother…”

 “Is there anything wrong with girls, Loki?” she asks, amused.

  What’s so funny about what he said? “It’s just…. It’s just…” This is a lost battle, he knows it. “No.” he answers, dejectedly.

 “I am glad to hear that,” she replies, eyes twinkling with mirth. “This girl is said to be very bright, you know, I am sure the two of you will get along nicely.”

 He won’t believe it until he sees it. Frankly, he thinks it will be a waste of time, time he could be spending reading about magic or playing with his friend, or doing any number of the much better things he has to do.

 Self -preservation prevents him from saying all that, though, so instead he asks, “What is her name?”

 “Sigyn Iwaldidottir. She is a lovely girl, Loki, you should give her a chance!”

 He will, if only because he has too.

  _Do not worry, I shall help you through this,_ the voice says helpfully. It is of little comfort.

 He groans, and Mother laughs.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are they gone?” Loki whispers.

  _I do not know, boy, but if you do not wish to be caught, I suggest you be quiet!_ It is a sharp reprimand, but a valid one.

 Holding his breath, he strains his ears to hear through the thick cupboard door. Just in time, as he hears loud footsteps running just past his hiding place. Quickly, he presses against the back wall.

  _That is a completely pointless gesture, I hope you know that._

“So is your comment,” he hisses, “but that doesn’t seem to stop you.”

 The voice laughs in his head. _I suppose you have a point there, my boy._

 He smirks in victory, but quickly sobers up when he remembers his precarious position. “Can’t you see where they are?”

  _I am not a specter, nor omnipresent, nor any other misconceptions you may have. I can only see what you see._

_Now if you want me to indulge in your desire not to be caught – and remember that whatever punishment you may suffer, I will not have too, you will be quiet!_ The voice is obviously at wits end. It’s not Loki’s fault: he is in a crisis, and he needs all the help he can get! If the voice is his friend, it should be able to answer his questions without qualifying them of “incessant pestering”!

  _Do not test my patience, boy, or I may just abandon you to your fate,_ it growls.

 Before he can reply, he hears more people pass in front of the door, and so he stays quiet.

 It really shouldn’t be happening this way. The plan was exceedingly simple: sneak into the laundry room, put garden snakes inside the basket full of fresh sheets, enjoy the mayhem. He had even studied the shift schedule in order to make sure no one would be there. Unfortunately, one of the maids had forgotten some utilities inside, and spotted him as he exited the scene of the crime. Curse him and his luck!

 It wouldn’t have been so bad, if only children were allowed inside that room in the first place. They weren’t though, which meant his mere presence was worthy of punishment alone. Add to that his little prank (and it was little, he had come up with far more devious), and he is bound to get in deep trouble, of the numerous-chores-as-punishment variety. His one saving grace was that the maid in question hadn’t had a good view of his face before he ran. As long as he wasn’t caught, he could deny ever being here in the first place.

 Things aren’t looking so good, though, as he is for all intent and purpose stuck inside the cupboard, with apparently no means of knowing when the coast is clear.

 “How can a disembodied voice that can read minds not see further than a cupboard?” he whispers as snappily as he can. “Can’t you tell where people are?”

  _I can see what you see because your mind is open to me. I can feel your presence acutely, I can infer the existence of others through noise and slight disturbances in the general energy field, but I cannot see every single soul in this palace!_ The voice is a snappish as he is. _I need more than two sets of eyes!_

 The sound of footsteps fades away, allowing him to relax slightly. He ponders what he has just heard, when something occurs to him. “More than two sets… You mean you have more than one? More than mine?!” he exclaims.

  And, for perhaps the first time in all the years they have known each other, the voice doesn’t reply.

“You do, don’t you?” he goes on. “That’s why you’re not answering! Why didn’t you tell me? Why don’t you want me to know?”

  _...Such a clever boy…_ it says pensively.

 “What?”

 No answer, but Loki suddenly feels the intense focus of his friend on him. It unnerves him, enough for him to temporarily forget the danger on the other side of the door. “What…what are you doing?”

 A pause. _I apologize, my dearest, I just… Your astuteness is sometimes surprising to me._

He waits for a while, waiting for the voice to go on. It takes a while, but eventually he gets some more information. _I do indeed have a body, of sorts… I did not wish to speak of it, for the subject still brings me pain…_

Dread pools at the bottom of his stomach. “Why…?”

  _I cannot move it, you see. I am, as much as it pains me to admit, paralyzed…_

“What? How come?” he asks, alarmed.

  _Now, boy, it is not the time to talk about such things, don’t you think?_

“But I want to understand!” He can’t just leave things at that! “Won’t you tell me?”

 A sigh. _Perhaps someday… But not now. It is a sensitive subject for me, and one I am not inclined to share with just anybody._

“I’m not anybody!” he mumbles defensively.

  _It seems that indeed you are not…_  Again, that pensive tone. He doesn’t know what to make of it.

 Then, he feels a hand in his hair, on his cheek, and warmth within his mind. _I promise to tell you some day, my Loki, do not doubt that._ There is an intensity to this that seems completely out of place stuck inside that cupboard. This was just supposed to be a simple prank expedition! He can’t move though, for he is frozen in place by the hands and the feelings coursing through him, and can only listen to what is being said.

  _I will tell you one day, for I trust you just as you trust me. But this subject pains me, for reasons that I cannot tell you right now. I am wounded, my Loki, my lovely, in so many ways, so much so that I fear I will drive you away._ He opens his lips to object, but the voice cuts him off. _I know, I know you do not wish to, and I believe you. That is why I will one day reveal it all to you, when you are ready, when I am. Please wait, and be patient._

Loki nods, dazed. He opens his mouths, closes it immediately because what can he say? In all the time they have spent together, he had been the one in need. When he had been lonely, when Baldr had betrayed him, when Thor was teasing him… He had been the one to request, to plead, to seek comfort.

 For the first time, the roles are reversed. He is the one that someone is coming to. It is the most responsibility that he has had in his short life. The ones that come with being a prince cannot compare. This…this is much more intimate.

 And it frightens him, the intensity behind the voice’s urging. It frightens him, so much so that he just wants to break away, wants to push that presence out of his head, and for one desperate second, wants to be alone again.

 Those thoughts immediately fill him with guilt.

 He should be above such selfishness. Not only because of all his friend has done for him, but also because it just isn’t right. He knows well enough not to abandon a friend in need.

 No, he will not pull away. He owes his friend that much.

“What… what can I do to help?”

  _Just stay with me, my boy. Stay by my side, and you will help. I trust my care to you._

 He accepts, of course he does. The voice has been there for him for so long, has been his one true friend all these years, how could he not reciprocate?

 Loki is nothing if not grateful.

 His friend is crooning, he feels such affection resonating within him. _Oh, my Loki, I am glad to see we will always have each other._

 He nods, again, to overcome with emotion to speak. What just happened? He reaches out to his friend, and feels him reach back.

 “Yeah,” he whispers, “We’re always going support each other.”

 When he is caught by a very angry maid, he cannot find it in himself to care.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 “Happy Nameday, Prince Loki!” a servant cries out.

 Loki flashes him a smile as he passes him, but does not stop. He walks as fast as he can without running, making a straight line towards his father’s study.

 He is one hundred years old today, finally, and the whole palace is bustling with activity. There will be a feast, of course, and many gifts. Although she hasn’t said as much, Loki knows that Mother has requested that his favorite food be prepared by the cooks. Since it is such a milestone, he will be allowed to stay up late, and perhaps, if he plays his cards right, have a sip of mead. A fine day indeed.

 There is one more thing that could make it perfect, and that is what he is going to claim. When he reaches the thick oak door he is searching for, he knocks.

 A few seconds later – an eternity, because he cannot wait! – a gruff voice answers. “Come in.”

 With as much measure as he can manage, Loki slips into the room.

 It is golden, much like the rest of the palace. The stone floor is covered by a rug, a black and white design that was part of the gifts from the Vanaheim delegation. The walls are mostly bare, save for a few bookshelves and a couple of paintings, gifts again from other realms.

 In the corner are a few thick, comfortable looking chairs. Next to them stands a table with a couple goblets resting on top.

 It is not a frivolous room, for it is reserved for governance. All accommodations are there for the comfort of the King and possible delegates he may receive, nothing more.

 Father is sitting at his desk, a thick table of black wood, with several drawers along the edges.  The top is littered with papers, surprisingly messily for a king. The All-Father is hunched over them, mumbling to himself as he goes over the fine print of whatever treaty he is reading. Eventually, he looks up.

 “Ah, Loki, what can I do for you?”

 Huh? Isn’t it obvious? This is what he has been waiting for these last twenty years, surely Father knows!

 “It is my Nameday today, Father.”

 His father’s stern expression morphs into a smile, before he goes back to his papers. “Yes, I am aware. Did you think I had forgotten?” His face goes back to pensive as he stares at the sheet in front of him.

 “No, no, not at all!” Although he hadn’t seen his father all day, so it wouldn’t have been absurd for him to think so. He wants to say more, but Father seems so focused on the documents in his hands… Maybe he should have waited.

 “Is there anything else you would like to tell me, Loki?” The king doesn’t look up as he asks, a touch of annoyance in his voice.

 Despite that, this is a good an invitation as he would get, Loki decides. He finds his voice again. “I would like to know… When should I begin my lessons?”

  “Lessons, what lessons?” Father asks, looking up.

 The surprise on his face is genuine. Loki had hoped for it all to be a joke, even if he hadn’t really believed it was. Alas, looking upon his father, he feels disappointment wash over him. Father had forgotten after all.

 “My seidr lessons… You said I could start when I was one hundred.” He adds on tentatively, “Remember?”

 Father blinks, and looks at him with his brown furrowed. After a moment, he says “Ah, yes yes, now that you mention it.” He sighs. “I do not have time to discuss this right now, Loki. You will have to wait a while.” With that, he goes back on more time to his papers, mumbling about trade and taxes.

 This isn’t going as planned, not at all… “But Father!”

 “Not now, Loki!” he snaps.

 Loki recoils. He can feel a ball forming in his throat, but forces himself to stay composed. “I’m…I’m sorry. I’ll see you tonight, then?” He walks but towards the door, shoulders slumped.

 “Yes, yes of course.” Father mumbles back distractedly.

 As he leaves, he can feel his friend giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder. He smiles, and walks back to his room.

 It’s fine, he can wait a little while longer. It won’t be long, Father just told him he would do it later. It’s all fine.

 The thought doesn’t stop the tears prickling the corner of his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Managed to update just before the new year, woohoo!
> 
> This was supposed to be a small interlude as Loki grew up a few decades. It is now my longest chapter. Haha....
> 
> Anyway, hope your having a very nice break! Updates should be more frequent now, at least for a while.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, all mistakes are mine.

The sun is beaming hard above Loki, making him hot and dizzy. If anyone asks, he would blame it for his current performance.

 Thor is relentless in his attacks, fully using his large build to his advantage. At merely one hundred and forty, he has already developed significant strength. Not as large as that of a seasoned warrior, but enough to give him a sizable advantage.

 The fact that he has over thirty years more of experience doesn’t help, but Loki can’t really claim it to be unfair. The entire point of the exercise was for the less practiced of the group to fight against a stronger opponent in order to improve. Three decades wasn’t even that much at their age by Aesir standards: training started at ninety years old. It mostly consisted of building muscles and simple moves until they were ready to move onto a higher level. This phase went on for years, the constant practicing of the basics allowing them to become automatic by the time true techniques were learned.

 This is why despite the many different ages in this class, the difference in skill is relatively small.

 Except for Thor, clearly the best among them.

 Taking advantage of a moment’s distraction, he grabs Loki by the shoulders, attempting to make him fall over. The younger prince curses under his breath as he is pulled sharply to the side (He hopes Thor doesn’t tell; Mother never need know about his new-found vocabulary). Fortunately, his brother is still lacking discipline in applying techniques to battle; although his pull is strong, he has neglected to put his leg in Loki’s way, making his move much less effective.

 With a quick hit to his elbows, Loki manages to break his brother’s grasp. Thor’s arms are still spread open, giving him an opening. Loki’s right shoulder hits him square in the chest, sending him stumbling backward.

 It’s a small victory, and probably the only one he will get out of this. Loki is exhausted, and has no taste for sparring. Thor, on the other hand, finds great joy in this activity, as illustrated by the beaming smile on his face.

 Of course he would smile when he knows he will win, Loki thinks bitterly.

 Thor charges once more while Loki is still trying to catch his breath. The second prince manages to evade a couple grabs, but eventually is caught again by the upper-arm. His brother seemingly learns from his mistakes – a quality that his only seems to apply to combat – for his next attempt is much better executed. In a few seconds, Loki lands hardly against the sand floor with a grunt.

 “Game end!” cries out Tyr. “Thor Odinson is the winner.”

 His brother is positively beaming from the applause he receives, while he gets up grumbling.

 “That’ll be your fourth victory straight!” exclaims Fandral. “Perhaps you need some real competition, to avoid getting arrogant!”

 The remark stings, but Loki lets it go.

  _You do not need to give him the satisfaction,_ his friend reminds him.

 I know, he replies mentally.

 At the voice’s suggestion, he has taken to distancing himself from those who might wish to hurt him. It isn’t always easy: even now, he is fighting the urge to glare at Fandral and respond with a biting remark of his own. Still, he manages to compose himself, and merely walks back towards the group of trainees.

 He is rewarded when the conversation turns towards the merit of grabbing or pushing rather than his weakness at sparing. He feels smug: he didn’t give them an opening, and so they could not attack. He is much better at battle when it comes to wit, he thinks smugly.

  _Unfortunately, wit can only do so much when it comes to a fist to the face._

 He pinches his lips at the comment. He is trying his best, really! It’s not his fault Thor is naturally stronger than he is!

  _Is that your best? Well, I suppose it is a good thing you have someone to watch over you._

He feels his eyes going wet. This sort of comment he would expect from Thor and his friends, but from his one true companion…

  _I am only kidding, my boy, do not fret so much!_

 Well then, if it’s just a joke… Still, he doesn’t like being reminded of his failings. He doesn’t like failure in general.

 “That is enough for today!” says Tyr. “We will begin next session tomorrow after the dawn meal. I expect all of you to show up on time.”

 Everyone mumbles in agreement. The weapon master is too intimidating to do otherwise.

 Everything about him screams warrior, from his muscled arms to the scar running down his right eye. His hair is a pale blond, almost white. He keeps it short, against Aesir fashion. Once, Fandral had daringly asked his reasons for such a peculiar choice. He had quickly cowered under the glare he received in reply, along with the biting answer:

 “So that no one has the smart idea to pull on it during battle!”

 From any other man, Loki might have thought it a joke. However, Tyr was anything but with his trainees, and so everyone had accepted it as truth. Such underhanded techniques are not the ways of Asgard, but Loki supposed a Vanir or a Frost Giant would do such things. His wrestling master is a veteran from the Jotunheim war, having lost a hand in its final days. The fact that he is still responsible for most of the training is a testament to his skills.

 “Prince Thor,” Tyr continues, “I believe you are ready to begin weapon practice. We shall discuss it tomorrow.”

 Thor is beaming at the instructor. Such a comment is a high praise indeed coming from such a man. His good mood lasts during the whole walk back to the showers (horrendously long in Loki’s opinion, he hates being dirty).

  _Indeed my boy, you truly do stink._

Loki bristles at this. Does a disembodied voice even have a sense of smell?

  _I have been reliably informed of the stench one bears after such activities. But it is true, I do not possess the ability to smell. And I must say I am glad of that, seeing the sorry state your brother is in._

 He looks Thor’s way and snickers. Indeed, the elder prince always seemed to leave the training ground absolutely filthy. He was covered in sweat, dust and dirt. It didn’t seem to deter him much though, as he was still beaming from Tyr’s comment.Unfortunately, a quick look down his own body informed Loki that he fared little better, much to his embarrassment.

 He is especially thorough in his shower that day.

As the boys are getting changed, Thor is nearly overwhelmed by the swarm of admirers coming his way.

 “I can’t believe you are going on to weapon practice!” whines Fandral. “I’m nearly as good as you, and Tyr hasn’t mentioned anything of the sort!”

 “Nearly is the key word, Fandral.” Thor replies on good humor. Then, he adds with much somberness. “Do not despair. I am certain that if you put your mind to it, you will be able to join me next century.”

 Fandral stares at him in choc, eyes comically wide. However, Thor has never been able to deceive any one for very long. After a few seconds, his composed façade dissolves into a fit of giggle. Seeing that, Fandral exhales loudly in relief. A huge grin splits his face as he understands the game they are playing. Barely a second later, he is the picture of sorrow, looking sideways with the back of his hand on his forehead.

 “Ah, cruel prince!” he exclaims exaggeratedly, “I expected such deceit from your brother, but you!” He theatrically puts his hand over his heart. “I believe I have lost a few years of my life because of your wicked jest!”

 “Well then, friend, I suppose that leaves you with less time to get to weapon training.” Thor chokes out through his laughter.

 Still fighting a smile, Fandral continues his dramatics. “No, you are no friend of mine after such wickedness! I renounce you, Prince Thor, I renounce you!”

 Loki has been quietly changing during the whole conversation, content with simply listening. However, the good cheer makes it hard to resist joining in, and so he pipes up.

 “Worry not, dear Fandral, for you still have a friend in me,” he says sweetly.

 Not missing a beat, the blond boy continues his performance. “Thank you, dear Loki! Although I do regret that my friend is not taller.”

 Snickers all around, but Loki is undeterred. Being three decades younger than most here, he is used to such comments. He is still taking notes on who laughed loudest though – some mice stuffed boots will be coming their way.

  He goes on. “I may be small, but I am wise. And I know just how to make our dearest training master see your worth!”

 “Truly? And what wise idea is it you have, little Loki?” the boy plays along.

 Adopting a face of pure candor, the second prince replies. “Why, cutting your hair off, of course! What better way to show your devotion to his teachings?”

 Fandral’s face dissolves into one of pure horror, and his hands shoot up to touch his treasured golden strands. Thor burst out laughing.

 “He would love it, I think!” he says when he catches his breath. “Do it Fandral, please!”

 “But Thrud loves my hair!” the boy replies. “I could never break her heart like that!”

 At that, Thor’s grin morphs into a slight pout. “I don’t know how you do it. I’m a prince, and I can’t talk to girls the way you can.”

 Satisfied that the conversation has moved on to his own area of dominance, Fandral quickly regains his confident drawl. “It’s because I understand girls, Thor, and you don’t!” he says with a smile. “It’s all about getting into their mindset.”

 “Ah, so Loki must be very successful then!” someone chimes.

 Everyone laughs as Loki glowers. He had managed to avoid such comments for nearly a week, but this person has ruined it all. If only he could find out who it was…

  _I believe it was Gildi Halnarrson, my dear. Rest assured, we will make him pay._

Loki smirks discretely. It is always nice to have such support in these types of situations.

 “Because he must have a girl’s mind to be learning seidr!” Gildi adds. Because apparently, the jest needed explaining.

 Loki rolls his eyes at this. Just for that, he’ll be especially vicious. Such stupidity should not and must not be tolerated.

 The laughter is still continuing. Even Thor has joined in. That is beyond angering, it is hurtful. This is he brother, how could he join in with these people mocking him? Shouldn’t he stand up for him?

 (Loki doesn’t know if he would stand up for Thor, but that doesn’t matter because _no one_ makes fun of Thor. Because Thor is tall and strong and an excellent fighter and Loki is not at all jealous.)

 His brother notices his discontent, for he groans at him. “Come on, Loki! It’s just a joke!”

 “It isn’t funny, Thor!” Loki snaps back. “Father does seidr, and you don’t make fun of him!”

 “Well, duh, he is the _King!_ ” Thor rolls his eyes. “Besides, it’s not the same at all!”

 “Why not?” Loki demands. “Can you tell me, huh?”

 “It just isn’t!” his brother brilliantly argues. “Anyway, it’s not like Father uses seidr a lot. He only does it when he has to.”

 “Why do you want to learn seidr anyway?” Fandral asks. “No one is making you.”

  “I do what I want.” Loki mumbles.

 “Obviously, but what are you going to do with it once you learn it?”

 He pauses. Not because he has no answer, but because he has too many. Ever since he had first seen his Mother’s illusion, he had read every single book he could find on the subject. With his friend’s guidance, he had soon seen all the applications, all the possibilities! So much more interesting than swinging a blade at people.

 What wasn’t he going to do with seidr once he learned it?

 “Well, Fandral,” he answers sweetly, “seidr is most commonly used in order to cast spells, but if I ever find another use for it, I’ll be sure to let you know!”

 “Very funny.” He deadpans.

 “Can you do anything with it now?” Thor intervenes.

 At this point, they are mostly alone. The group surrounding them had progressively dwindled once the teasing had stopped. Without all those witnesses, Loki feels much more comfortable discussing this. And so, instead of some witty reply, he offers:

 “I can do many things. I told you about them, remember?” His voice is only somewhat irritated, he counts that as a success. “Make small object levitate, light candles, some potions…”

 “No, but I mean, can you do any real spells?” Thor cuts him off. “Useful ones, one you can fight with.”

 Those _are_ real spells, Loki wants to shout. Just because you can’t blow things up with them doesn’t mean their useless! However, a quick nudge on his mind stills his tongue.

  _You will never be able to convince them, my boy. Forget about it._

He takes a deep breath. Yes, the voice is right, they had discussed this already. He has known for a long time that his choices would be unpopular.

 Of course, he hadn’t quite realized how much.

 “It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Fandral cuts in. “No true warrior would use seidr during a fight. It’s why women do it instead.”

 “Oh really?” Loki asks viciously. “Did you inform Sif of that?”

 Immediately, the boy blanches. No one would be so stupid as to say something like that to her face, not anymore.

 When she had first joined their sparring class, many had laughed not-so-discretely. Of course, it was not unknown for girls to learn how to fight, if only for self-defense, but their training was usually done separately: they had sewing lessons, embroidery lessons and Norns know what else girls are supposed to learn. Those easily took up the entire morning, meaning that any fighting class was to be had during their free time.

 Sif, however, had decided to forgo all that in order to join the boys. He had didn’t know for sure how she had managed to convince her parents, but he suspected it was through sheer stubbornness.

 After all, how else could she have withstood all the initial teasing?

 Many had decided that she would be an easy target, and mocked her mercilessly. Whenever she would come up for a spar, they would jeer and sneer at her. (Come to think of it, Halnarrson had been one of the first among them. Did that boy _ever_ learn?) Fortunately for her, she was in the perfect position to quite literally beat them into submission.

 No one mocked her to her face anymore. They even had a hard time teasing her behind her back when she moved on to weapon training before anyone else. She was just that good.

 Just thinking about it makes Loki’s heart fill with jealousy. Of course she would find a way to make them shut up! He can’t beat them in sparring like that, he can’t even do any spells that would help! His pranks just make them angrier, but it’s the only weapon he has right now. He just can’t make them stop!

  _They will never stop, Loki. You should accept that._

 They will, just you wait, he thinks. He will become great, so great a mage that they will have to.

  _Oh, my boy…_

 The pity in his friend’s voice annoys him. Mostly, though, there is the fear that the voice is right.

  While he had been lost in thought, the topic of conversation had shifted to Sif and how scary she can be. Deciding to take his leave, he leaves the two boys to their most rousing discussion.

 However, as he walks away he hears Thor call out.

 “Where are you going?” He sounds surprised, which almost makes Loki groan. What does it matter to him?

 “To the library! I need to work on a paper for my seidr class!” the second prince replies. With his chin up, he dares Thor to make any comments.

 His brother looks startled. “But I thought we…” He sighs, rolling his eyes and looking oddly resigned. “Fine. We’ll be in the garden if you’re looking.” He mumbles something Loki can’t quite catch before leaving.

 “Have fun.” Loki says distractedly. His mind is already on the assignment he needs to prepare.

 The entire walk to the library, he is debating with his friend on how to best present his essay. The subject matter is fairly basic, the common uses of carved runes when casting. He has always found it fairly easy to understand, so he has no problem coming up with material. The problem comes from editing. His seidr master asked for five pages, so five pages he will get. No one likes an over-achiever.

 It still breaks his heart to be so imprecise.

 “I need to use those three examples!” he protests when the voice suggests that he may be over-illustrating his arguments.

  _Nonsense, boy. Carving Fehu and Ehwaz on horse saddles perfectly illustrates the basic good luck charm. There is no need for more._

“But that leaves out the problem of carving on living beings!” he cries out. “Surely it’s important!”

  _It is not, young thing, and such superfluous displays will not go well with your instructor. I expect you would want to keep him happy, seeing as he is the only support you have in your endeavors!_

He freezes. That is something he had been very careful not to think about, and for a moment he hates the voice for bringing it up.

 Except it’s right, isn’t it? Beyond the obvious mocking he receives every day from boys his age, it’s not like the rest of Asgard thinks any better.

 And Father…

 He feels tears prickling the corner of his eyes, even years later. When Father had dismissed him from his study, he had been sure that he would have to wait only a couple months for his lessons. It’s was really no big deal, a couple months were nothing, not even at his age. Because of the average lifespan on Asgard, a few months barely register.

 He had waited two years.

 He had wanted to be patient, but after the first six months had passed, he had grown restless. He had just been about to storm to his father’s study when his friend intervened.

  _The All-Father is a busy man, my Loki. You must know that. He must watch over nine realms._

“But he promised!” he had protested.

  _Has he, though? Even if that were true, he will always be the King of Asgard first. He will deal with your request when he has time for you. Each matter must be given consideration in accordance to its importance._

And so he had waited some more.

 He waited as he practiced with his friend, he waited as went through more sparring than he would ever have wanted to do. He even resolved to wait some more when the King had gifted Thor his first armbands, barely two weeks after the boy had requested some.

  _Ah, my boy, but your brother is shaping up to be a model warrior!_ the voice had explained. _It is only fitting that the King of Asgard rewards such a fine prince._

People had complimented Thor on his very first piece of armor. They told him it was an encouragement to persist in his path. Father had looked on with pride as his brother demonstrated the defensive poses he had been taught.

 When almost a year had passed, Mother had come into his room, and had offered to start teaching him.

  _A kind offer, it is true,_ his friend had advised, _but entirely too impractical. Do you think she will be able to forego her duties as Queen? The All-Mother cannot spend time teaching you, my Loki. You must wait for a tutor._

And so he had refused. His mother had been surprised, but had accepted his decision.

 He kept on training. After another couple months, he had finally been able to feel seidr like he had during his first session.

 The voice had been so proud of him then. _My Loki, my clever little thing, so much potential…_ He had needed it, that validation, that pride. The few who had been aware of his desire to pursue seidr weren’t nearly as enthusiastic as he was. (Well, there was Baldr a long time ago, but he is a liar). His friend was the one constant source of praise he had, always calling him smart, clever, and once or twice beautiful, even though he wasn’t as tall or golden as Thor.

 He needs all that still, and… he doesn’t think he can get it from Father. Because Father has never once mentioned anything about lessons until Loki had asked again.

 He had many explanations, and he didn’t know which was worse. Maybe Father had forgotten once more. It should be fine, people forget sometimes, but… It was the one thing he really wanted, the one subject he had talked about constantly during his twenty year wait. But the king still didn’t remember, didn’t think about it, and Loki wondered if he had ever truly listened.

 Or maybe it was because he asked for seidr training and not something related to direct combat? He knows that sometimes adults said they would do something but didn’t really mean it. You were supposed to be thankful they had suggested it, but not actually act on it. Did Father not want him to learn? Maybe he had said to wait all those years because he thought Loki wouldn’t want to anymore. Or maybe he had hoped that others would convince him not two. He thought back to when Thor had received his armbands. Was Father trying to let him know he didn’t really support him? By showing what kind of interest he truly wanted from him? Everyone knew the king was proud of Thor’s talent. Maybe it had been a test, and he had failed.

 But after so many years, Father would have told him, right? If he saw Loki hadn’t understood, then he would have set the record straight. So why hadn’t he said anything?

 Maybe he didn’t care either way, and he just had more important things to do. Lots of things were more important when you were king, and maybe in all those years, there hadn’t been any time to spend on Loki. The thought makes his eyes fill even more with tears. It makes sense, doesn’t it?  He is just the second son, and although he doesn’t know everything about ruling, he knows enough to know that Thor will be king. He won’t be. Because of that, Thor is more important than him, in the grand scheme of things. And it is as his friend has said, Father is a king before anything else. From that perspective, it made sense for him to care about Thor a bit more.

 (What do you deserve, Loki?)

 He sniffs. It made sense, but it wasn’t fair.

  _I know, my dearest, I know._ He feels arms wrap around his shoulders. _Life is incredibly unfair at times._

He nods, even though it doesn’t make him feel any better. He doesn’t know for sure the reasons for his father’s behavior, but he is pretty certain everything would be better if he were more like Thor. Because even though he still wouldn’t be king, he would be what everyone expected of a prince, and then Father could talk about his skills with pride too, and…

  _But you will never compare to Thor in their eyes. Do not lie to yourself as you lie to others._

It’s true, he knows it’s true, but maybe…

  _It is unwise to dwell on that which cannot be changed,_ the voice says in a sad tone. _All you can do now is try to prove your worth._

Loki’s eyes drift towards his paper.

  _If you persist in your path, you may someday become a great mage. And then…_

And then he would show them all how useful he could be. If he couldn’t be a great warrior, he would be a fantastic mage. Father may not approve of his chosen studies – and that still remained unconfirmed – but there is no way he wouldn’t appreciate his talents if he puts them in the service of Asgard.

 With renewed determination, he settles back to work.

 A couple hours later, he hears the chair in front of him move. He looks up to find Mother sitting across the table.

 What is she doing here? True, it’s not out of character for her to be here, like it might be for Thor and his wrestling happy friends, but it’s still extremely unusual. They stare at each other for a few moments, before the silence becomes too uncomfortable and he asks:

 “Is something wrong?”

 She looks at him with a soft smile. “Does anything have to be wrong for me to come see my son?”

 He raises an eyebrow at that. It’s bordering insolent behavior, but really, what did she expect? Never mind the fact that she hasn’t even answered his question, her demeanor is entirely too stiff. Her smile is slightly forced around the corner of her mouth, and her right eye is ever so slightly more contracted than the left one.

 His mother clearly came here to tell him something. Quite frankly, that she doesn’t just say it makes him more worried than anything else.

 “It pleases me to see you so studious, Loki.” So, straight to the point is definitely out. “How long have you been here?”

 “A couple hours.” He really has no idea where she is going with this. Although he is pleased with her initial compliment, he has to doubt her sincerity: she is obviously trying to sooth him before closing in.

 Quickly, he mentally goes through every reason he might be in trouble.

 He hasn’t stuffed anyone’s boot with mice yet, so that’s out.

 He has been fairly well behaved recently with the higher nobility, so that’s not it.

 That incident with the wooden spoon…? No, impossible, his friend and him have destroyed the evidence together.

 He is still drawing a blank when his mother goes on.

 “My! Two hours by yourself!” Again, so strained. Really? Has she forgotten who she is talking to?

 His expression must thoroughly convey how unimpressed he is, because she soon loses all affect. She sighs and looks at his straight in the eye. “What I mean to ask, my son, is are you lonely?”

 Huh? That was… not what he expected. He stammers: “P-Pardon?”

 “You are awfully solitary, my son. I need to know if you suffer from it.” The seriousness of her expression hasn’t wavered. “To be blunt, Loki: I worry.”

  “What? Why? I’m not lonely!” he exclaims in a rush. Where is all of this coming from?

 “Do not get agitated, Loki, I do not mean it as a criticism.” His mother’s face relaxes a little. “In over a century, I have had time to observe your nature, and it is true that you are at ease with being solitary.”

 “When you first started distancing yourself from me, I thought it normal. All boys desire to separate themselves from their mother. It is true Thor appreciated my company for a little longer, but you are not your brother Loki, and so I said nothing. Perhaps the presence of your older brother made you eager to showcase some independence.” She chuckles. “Oh, how I ever thought you would wish to learn seidr from your old mother, I will never know. Not very emancipatory, is it?” She looks at him, eyes filled with mirth. “I understand, although I can’t say I would mind having you all to myself again.”

 “However, you haven’t had any close friends that I know of. For a long while, I thought of letting it be. I did not expect you to play with Thor’s friends, for they were older than you at an age where such a difference matters greatly. I also did not wish to force you to socialize with children your age before you were ready. That would have been unkind. I did not want to harm you, you see. I still do not.”

 “But loneliness breeds loneliness. I know you think yourself fine,” she holds up her hand when he moves to interrupt her, “and perhaps you are. But the truth is I worry your chosen isolation has prevented you from forming bonds you would otherwise cherish. You are one hundred and eight years old, Loki. Surely, you would like a friend?”

 It is a rhetorical question, he knows that. It doesn’t stop him from grumbling. “There’s Sigyn.”

 His mother smiles softly. “Ah yes, the young Iwaldidottir. I confess, I was very glad to see you get along so well. But she lives in Vanaheim, my son. I know the two of you exchange letters every month or so, but…” She sighs. “Perhaps some more direct interaction would do you good.”

 He looks down at the table. What his mother is saying doesn’t upset him, really. He is more confused than anything else. Surely, she can tell he is fine as he is, right?

 Of course, he cannot tell her about the voice. He still has no desire to be branded as mad. So instead of arguing that he has a close friend, thank you very much, he replies. “What do you want me to do?”

 She frowns. “Do not phrase it that way, Loki. I will not force you.” He pouts, and so she softens. She takes his hand. “Thor and his friend often play in the garden in the afternoon. Perhaps you could join them some time?”

 “Thor? But he thinks he’s too old for me!” he protests.

 “Does he?” she asks with a smile. “Have you asked?” He opens his mouth, making her quickly amend. “And by that I mean, have you asked him recently?”

 He closes his mouth slowly. He knew Thor didn’t want to play with him twenty years ago. It had bothered him at the time, but then he used to play with Baldr. Then he met the voice, and he didn’t care so much anymore.

 The voice was always game for whatever Loki wanted to do. They kept each other’s secrets, they supported each other, they were great friends! So, no, after that encounter, he hadn’t really felt the need to ask again. It wasn’t as if he ignored Thor. They still talked around meal times, or whenever the two were alone together, but the later happened seldom. He had gotten in the habit of going off on adventures with his friend or practicing in his bedroom.

 His face clearly displays the answer to his mother’s question. “I see,” she says. “I do not wish to take this as a confirmation of my worries. I will let you think on this. But before I leave, please know: I have spoken to Thor about it, and he has expressed that he would be glad to have you should you decide to join.” She gets up, goes around the table and kisses his forehead. “I wish you a pleasant afternoon, my son.”

 With that she leaves. He watches her go pensively.

  _Do you plan on obeying?_

 He jumps, startled. “I don’t know… But anyway, it’s not really obeying if she gives me the choice, right?” No answer. He swallows uncomfortably. “I’ll think about it later. Let’s get back to my paper, okay?”

 Still nothing. He can feel the weight of his friend’s attention on him. It makes him slightly nervous. Did he say something wrong?

 After another moment, the voice speaks up. _Very well. Go back to the last paragraph you have written, I will tell you what to change._

Sighing in relief, he complies.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to add "Unreliable Narrator" to the tags. Because Loki tends to go for the worst possible explanation, so you can't completely trust his assessment of things.
> 
> The next few chapters will be a challenge for me in terms of pacing and characterization. Feel free the criticize if I get anything wrong!
> 
> Random story: my parents found out I was writing fanfiction. Since it's not nearly as big in France, they had no idea what it was. When I started explaining, they got really exited about me being an "amateur writer" and maybe you could show us so that we can give you some criticism? What is your story about? And there I was trying very hard not to say "child grooming, brainwashing and inappropriate relationships with disembodied voices."  
> That would get me straight to therapy.


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, all mistakes are mine

  As usual, he is absolutely filthy by the time training ends, so much so that he has a hard time focusing on anything else. The entire walk towards the shower he is in a daze, his entire world reduced to the promise of cleanness that awaits him at the end.

 It wasn’t bad, as far as the training goes. He had managed to defeat a few adversaries, something he could never have hoped for in the early years. Tyr had commented on his progress:

 “You are not incapable, Odinson.”

It is probably as high a praise as he can wish for.

 Still, training is training, and he much prefers the library. As he washes himself, he can’t help but be glad it is over.

 However, before he can rush back to the palace, he spots Fandral.

 He hadn’t seen much of the boy this last week. There was always an assignment to prepare, or something the voice suggested they do. He has been almost constantly busy, which made for entertaining days but left him absolutely exhausted come bedtime.

 The boy is ready to go now, and he will probably join Thor. Ever since his brother has moved on to weapons training, Fandral has been much more assiduous, no doubt in effort to be in the same group as Thor again. Judging by Tyr’s pleased looks, it shouldn’t take too long.

 The conversation he had with his mother comes back to mind. He had barely had time to consider it, hadn’t really wanted to if he is completely honest. He had settled himself in a nice status quo: the voice and him, and everyone else.

 To go up to Thor would be almost like begging, which Loki will never, ever do. On the other hand, Mother had been pretty insistent and adamant. If he tried, he would at least make her happy with him, so maybe it was worth it?

  _What are you waiting for, dearest?_ The voice is urging him along. _We must practice that potion I told you about._

Oh, right, the dissimulation spell. It is more advanced than what he is doing now, but still feasible, especially considering all the extra training he gets from his friend. He had been looking forward to try it out.

 Fandral is dressed now, he is already leaving…

  _Come along, now, Loki._

 Maybe another day, there is still time… But if it turns out badly, he would have gotten it over with at least…

  _Loki…_

“Fandral wait!” he calls out.

 Fandral turns around, just as startled as Loki himself feels. He honestly hadn’t planned on saying anything, it just slipped out. Now Fandral is staring at him, Loki’s mouth is stupidly hanging open, and the silence is lasting entirely too long.

  _Is something the matter?_

The impatience within the voice’s tone spurns him into action. “Are you going to find Thor?”

 He can feel his cheeks reddening. Stupid, stupid, of course he is joining Thor. Norns, this was a bad idea!

 “Yes…” Fandral still looks puzzled.

 Swallowing hard, Loki continues. “Can I come with you?”

 “Oh.” Fandral looks surprised, and really what did Loki expect? There was no way he would…

 “I don’t mind, really,” the boy goes on. “Come with me, and we’ll ask Thor. I don’t think he’ll say no.”

 He then turns around. Loki dumbly watches him go a few moments, before the words finally penetrate the mortification he feels and he runs after him.

  _What are you doing, boy?_ He flinches at the hiss in his mind.

 I don’t know, he thinks. I didn’t really mean too.

 The walk is done in awkward silence. Every so often, he would see out of the corner of his eye Fandral glancing at him. He resolutely kept his eyes straight ahead, cheeks burning.

  _We had such plans this afternoon._

 Well, it’s not like he can turn away _now._ That would be way to embarrassing!

 But this situation is almost as bad. He has never acted on his impulses in this way before. The voice had always been there to temper him and guide him. It has always worked out for the best when he listened, so why isn’t he doing as told now?

 He doesn’t even want to be here, he is just doing it for Mother’s sake. He is perfectly fine having his one friend. He doesn’t want any more, wouldn’t know what to do with more anyway!

  _And yet, because of your foolish pride, you will put us both through this._

It’ll make Mother happy, he pleads mentally.

  _Ah, yes, your Mother. Well, I suppose you would give in to her every demand._

I’m sorry, he thinks desperately.

 “Hey Loki!” Fandral calls. “Do not trail behind, it would be a shame to lose you on the way!”

 And stupidly, Loki runs to catch up.

After an excruciatingly long time, the two of them finally join Thor in the gardens. Well, he amends as he comes closer, Thor and Sif.

 He is surprised to see her there: she had never been particularly close to his brother, or any boys in their class to begin with. Truth be told, he doesn’t know who she is close too. Still, if she is here, Thor must have invited her; the short time he has spent in her company had given him the impression that she was too proud to ask to come with.

 Nevertheless, she is obviously pleased to be here. Loki suspect she looks forward to the rough-housing that is bound to happen. It is not the sort of activity most would expect from a girl, which of course meant that Sif wanted to do nothing else. She came prepared: the bottom of her dress is pulled up by a cord, so that the material that must have once dragged on the floor now stops at her knees. Her black hair has been tied up in a messy bun, still damp from her shower. It’s uncommon, but practical. Over all, Loki approves.

 Thor, on the other hand, looks a mess. He has cleaned himself from the dust and grim of the arena, but his skin is still littered with bruises. Small ones, for sure, probably caused by the dull edges of the training swords. It boggles the mind: how many times was he hit?

 “Hello Thor!” Fandral calls out. “You look awful!”

 His brother groans. “Oh, shut up Fandral!” He smiles slightly. “Just you wait until you join us, then we’ll see if you laugh.”

 “A week apart, and already so arrogant!” Fandral laughs. “I think I can take you on.”

 “It’s not him you should worry about.” Sif cuts in.

 Loki stares at her a few seconds before it hits him. “You did this?!”

 She turns towards him. “Yes.” It is pointedly said, with pride and a little defensiveness.

 He offended her, he realizes. Going to a higher level in training probably hasn’t stopped the whispers and doubts over her abilities. They may very well have gotten worse, seeing as she would also be one of the youngest in her group.

 In an uncharacteristic moment of astuteness, Thor senses her displeasure. He quickly intervenes: “Sif is probably one of best with a sword.” He then admits, slightly grudgingly, “I could only land one hit when we spared.”

 “It was a good one.” Sif replies. Loki isn’t sure if she means it or is just repaying kindness with curtesy.

 Thor smiles at her, then turns to him. “So, what are you doing here, Loki?”

 Huh? Isn’t it obvious? Mother said… But then again, maybe Thor was just telling her what she wanted to hear. Thor didn’t want him here, he had been lying, and now Loki couldn’t ask because he would look so desperate, and…

  _We can always go back, Loki_

Yes, going back. Discretely, so that he doesn’t look like he is running away. He just needs to find a good reason to have come, a good excuse…

 “Loki here wished to know if he could join us this afternoon.” Fandral’s voice cuts through his mental flailing. The boy is looking at him with compassion; he must have known Loki was too paralyzed to speak, but he obviously was mistaken on what was going on in his mind. He would never have pushed for him to join otherwise.

 “Oh.” His brother looks confused for second, before a huge grin splits his face. “Ooooh! Of course! You can come, Loki!”

 Loki blinks. Really? He asked and Thor…accepted?

  _Now, Loki…_

 “There is four of us, so we can play lots of different games!” Thor involuntarily cuts the voice off. “Mother gets upset when we get too dirty though, so we’ll have to be careful. We can play Jotun hunt!”

 He is almost too scared to ask at this point. “What’s Jotun hunt?”

 Fandral looks at him with wide eyes. “You mean you’ve never played? Who doesn’t play Jotun hunt”

 No, he hasn’t actually, but so what? It’s no big deal!

 “I mean, I know you spend much more time in the library than is healthy, but surely you go outside once in a while?”

 He can feel his cheeks reddening. He may have not played their games, but he has done many other things with the voice, things they never have done!

  _And they were more worthwhile._

Exactly!

  _Are you sure you wish to endure their company?_

Before he can even think of a reply, Sif pipes up, looking at Fandral pointedly. “It’s fine, we’ll explain. There is one Jotun is the group, and the rest are warriors. The Jotun runs away and hides, because it is a coward. The warriors try to find and catch it, and the one that does it first wins.”

 “How does the Jotun win?”

 “Well, it doesn’t.” His brother says it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Either someone finds it, or it comes out and hides somewhere else. But it doesn’t _actually_ win.”

 “Jotuns never win at anything.” Fandral snorts.

 That seems easy enough. “So how do you pick the Jotun? Does the one who finds it first become it next turn?”

 “No!” Thor exclaims, almost horrified. “He is the mightiest warrior, why would he be the Jotun?!” A compelling argument but not very helpful, Loki thinks irritated.

 “It’s decided among the rest of the group.” Fandral intervenes. “You really haven’t played at all have you?”

 “Yes, you’ve said that already!” he snaps.

 The boy raises his hands as if to appease him. “Wow there, no need for temper! I didn’t mean anything by it.”

 “Then why speak to say nothing?” Loki mumbles, then winces internally. He should have ignored him again, like he had been told to. He raised to the bait, and now they’ll all turn against him.

 It’s fine, he doesn’t need them anyway. He doesn’t even like being with so many people, he isn’t used to it. This is better. They’ll tease him, he’ll leave, and everything will be like it was before. And he’ll be able to tell Mother that he tried.

 He tries to call out to his friend for confirmation, for support. He is met with nothing but silence. Maybe he wasn’t clear enough? He is having a hard time focusing.

 And then he hears a chuckle. What..?

 He looks up in shock. His brother doesn’t seem angry, he even looks amused. Sif is smirking, and Fandral is actually laughing.

 “Alright, alright!” The boy says in good humor. “I won’t say it again.”

 He barely has enough sense to keep himself from gawking. Why? Why aren’t they angry?

 This makes no sense.

 “So, who’ll be the Jotun?” Thor asks, eager to begin.

 The reaction is almost instantaneous. Thor looks around, clearly expecting it not to be him. Fandral is purposefully looking in the distance, Sif raises her eyebrow as if to dare anyone to nominate her.  Clearly, they will not be volunteering.

  _Loki…_

“I’ll do it.” Loki speaks up. “I’ll be the Jotun.”

 It’s the better part for him anyway, at least for now. He needs to get away for a short while. This entire situation is uncomfortable, because nothing is going as expected!

 Admittedly, he doesn’t know Sif very well, but he was so sure that Thor and Fandral would want nothing to do with him! He is certain it was the case before, surely things haven’t changed that much? Because Thor still makes comments about his magic, Fandral hasn’t stopped teasing him for being weak.

 The voice said they never would.

 On the other hand, it’s the first prolonged interaction he has had with his brother since… well since he met the voice, really. Honestly… he rather likes it. And isn’t that a frightening thought?

 This has to be conditional, he thinks. He will do something they won’t like, and then he will no longer be welcome. If not a joke, then another comment. There is a reason they have not been in each other’s company all these years, after all.

 Right?

 He needs advice, he decides. He needs his friend to help him through this, and for that he needs to be alone.

 The others do not object one second, obviously pleased that someone else will do this thankless task. Soon enough, they turn around to let him hide, and he game begins.

 As he runs, myriads of possibilities flow through his mind. His vast experience running from maids and guards serves him well here.

 He needs somewhere discrete, somewhere he can slip into. Hidden from view, difficult of access. In a few seconds, he finds it.

 He ducks into the bushes, heading towards the back. There he finds a thick-trunked tree, covered in grey-blue pines.  The branches are low and large, allowing him to climb with ease. He stops on the fourth so that he is still covered by the thick bushes around him.

 His perch is still large enough that he can make himself comfortable. With his back against the trunk, his leg dangling in the air, he waits. Hopefully, they’ll be looking for a while. It’ll leave him time to gather his thoughts.

 They are acting rather oddly, aren’t they, he asks the voice. What do you think they want?

 He gets no answer.

 Frowning, he tries again. Nothing still.

 This hasn’t happened before. The voice has always been there, always ready to talk. What’s happening?

 Anxiously, he reaches out mentally. He doesn’t understand: he can still feel his friend, can still sense that small hum in his mind. Although he could not sense anything in the early years, the prolonged interaction with the voice has made it a constant. He found it reassuring, in a way.

 Now, though, it only makes him worry: why isn’t he answering? What happened?

 Please, are you there? Please?

 Nothing still.

 Is something wrong?

 Nothing?

 What is it? Why? He doesn’t understand!

 His breath is erratic now, his mind reeling. And still there is no answer, nothing to grab onto. He is alone, and he shouldn’t be alone because they will always be there for each other. The voice had promised! What is going on, what did he _do_?

  _We will speak of this later, boy! Do not disturb me any longer!_

The voice cuts through him, powerful and angry. So angry in fact, that he almost stops breathing from the shock (from fear). But although he is stunned, he is also relieved. The voice is still here, it didn’t leave!

 But why is it angry?

 Very cautiously, he reaches out once more, trying to understand. He is met with silence once again. Any further attempt will be met with same, he is sure.

 And so he is left alone on his branch, unsure of what to do. Why is the voice anger? Was it him? Is that why it won’t talk to him?

 His friend had said later, but when is later? How long will he have to wait?

 He thinks they are having a fight. They had never had a fight before. But if this is a fight, he doesn’t even know what it’s about!

 He is desperately raking his brain for an answer when he hears a voice coming from beneath him.

 “Found you!”

 He yelps, almost loses his balance, and then looks down. Sif is staring up at him, grinning.

 “Sif! You were… fast.” He coughs, completely pointlessly. “I though you would all take longer.”

 She shrugs. “The boys can’t fit into small spaces like I can, so I have the advantage.” She waves her hand, indicating that he should come down. “Come on, let’s go tell the boys that I won.”

 “No!”

 The protest leaves his mouth before he can think. He needs more time, he doesn’t know why his friend is angry yet!

 Oh, why couldn’t she have taken a while longer?

 She frowns, disbelief clear on her face. “Why not?”

 Yes, Loki, why not? He needs an excuse, a good one.

 There isn’t any. He settles on a bad one. “The game ends when you catch me. You have to reach me first!”

 “Don’t be ridiculous! You’re stuck up there!”

 He is indeed. When searching for a hiding place, he had forgotten to looks for a place allowing an easy escape. Not that it would have mattered, since the three older children were all faster than him, but it is still a gross oversight.

 He looks up; climbing would probably buy him more time, but it’s a desperate move he is unwilling to make.

 “Then you’ll have to climb up and get me!” he taunts instead.

 She looks as if she is going to protest for a moment, before her stance shifts. With a determined step, she approaches the first low branch and pulls herself up.

 She isn’t doing terribly, all things considered. Her balance is fragile, but the potential fall won’t hurt her too badly, so he isn’t worried. Watching her climb, he is still trying to find a reason for his friend’s silence.

 His efforts are once again interrupted when she starts speaking again.

 “How long did it take you to get up there?” she huffs.

 He shrugs. “Around three minutes.” It’s an easy climb, after all.

 “I guess you’ve had a lot of practice, then.” She says through her panting.

 He doesn’t answer. He is almost sure she is not listening to him, too focused on getting up. It’s the same kind of expression he saw he wear when she was still in his sparring group.

 “You’re doing it wrong,” he says without thinking.

 “Huh?”

 “You’re trying to pull yourself up with your hands alone. It won’t work that way.” He hadn’t meant on giving out any advice. But quite honestly, he enjoys showing off his skill. “You have to remember to use your legs.”

 She pauses, taking in his words. Eventually, she presses her foot against a small growth in the trunk. The added leverage allows her to go onto the second branch.

 “Thank you.” She grunts. “I don’t know why you’re helping me out, by thank you.”

 “I work in mysterious ways,” he replies cheekily.

 She chuckles. As she tries to get a good grip on the higher branch, she asks, “So, how do you like the game?”

 He hesitates. “It’s… alright, I guess.” The recent events have prevented him from even thinking about having fun, but that is not something she should know.

 She nods. “It’s much better when you’re one of the warriors, you’ll see.”

 He hums. There is really no point in arguing with her, he honestly holds no opinion on the subject.

 He watches her climb once more. The silence feels incredibly awkward to him. However, since he has no idea what to actually say, he remains silent.

 And the silence goes on. And on. And on.

 Norns, he hates this present moment. So much so that he has to speak up. “Do you play this a lot?”

 She shakes her head. “Not really. Most girls don’t like getting dirty.”

 Huh. “So, what do girls do?”

 She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, broidery I guess? I don’t frequent many girls.” She grabs his ankle. “There, I caught you, not let’s go.”

  “You first. I can’t get down if you’re in the way.”

 She looks down. “I have to climb that down now?” She is practically moaning.

 “Well, either that or jump.” He quips.

 She looks at him, then down, then back at him, and what is that glint in her eye?

 And then she jumps.

 He can feel his mouth drop open. She actually did it. Sure, the branches were low enough that any fall would not cause any great injury, but still… She just jumped.

 “Are you insane?”

 She looks up, smirking. “What? You said I could.” She turns around. “Come on, we need to start a new game before the boys get lost in the garden.”

 He stares in shock, before rushing after her.

 He does climb down though. No need for pointless risks.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 When they had joined the boys again, Thor and Fandral had been arguing over who would be the Jotun. Apparently, they had already decided they had no chance at winning this round. In the end, Fandral had given in; his brother refused to yield on the matter, and the boy knew when to pick his battles.

 The game had gone on, Fandral, Sif, and Loki taking turns in hiding. They played until fetched by a servant, sent by their mother to summon them for dinner.

 Loki hadn’t noticed how late it had become. Although still unused to being part of such a large group, he had eventually settled into a comfortable rhythm. He surprised himself with how much fun he had.

 He followed his brother back to the palace, separating only when he had to shower. Playing in the bushes had left them with dirt on their skin and leaves in their hair. Mother would have their hide if they showed up at the table like that.

 The cool shower is pleasant, giving him some much needed rest after a day spent running around. Unfortunately, the lack of distraction has the unpleasant side effect to draw back his thoughts to the voice, and its inexplicable anger. He can think of nothing he may have done wrong, but it is clear his friend is displeased with him.

 The thought troubles him deeply.

 He steps out of the shower, gets dressed and heads towards the dining room completely mechanically, mulling over the problem the whole way through. He is so engrossed in his thoughts he completely disregards greeting his family as he sits down.

 His father is quick to correct him. “A good evening to you as well, Loki.”

 Loki startles, then blushes. This is not the kind of attention he desires. “I...I’m sorry, father. Good evening.” He looks at his mother. “Good evening to you as well.”

 She smiles benevolently as father grunts in approval. “Good evening to you too, Loki. I trust you had a pleasant day?”

 Still feeling Father’s gaze on him, he barely manages to squeak “Yes, I did, thank you.”

 “That’s very nice.” She smiles. “What have you been doing?”

 Perhaps it’s because he is tired, perhaps because his lingering worry over his friend puts him in a bad mood, but he finds himself irritated with the question. There is no way she doesn’t know already what he has been up to. After all, she is the one who sent the servant in the first place!

 This is a test of some sort, he thinks. He knows what she wants to hear, this is his chance to do as she wishes. Resisting the urge to sigh, he gives in. “I was in the garden, with Thor. It was fun.”

 There it is. Not a very elaborate restitution, but he honestly doesn’t feel capable of giving much more right now.

 She beams. “I’m glad to hear that.” Of course she is.

 What he hadn’t expected is his father intervening. “It is good that you went outside today. You spend too much time indoors. It is unhealthy, especially for a prince.”

 He looks down at his plate. Another thing he does that father disapproves of. Or at least, disapproves of when it’s Loki who does it.

 He glances at Thor, who has many friends and spends his time outside. Thor, who does everything his father approves of with no effort whatsoever. Thor, of whom Loki is extremely jealous of right now.

 But he did do like Thor today, didn’t he? So shouldn’t Father be pleased? But his face is inscrutable, he is just staring at Loki like he expects something. Loki is waiting for praise that he knows now isn’t coming, the silence is dragging on for a touch too long, and everything is making him uncomfortable. So he nods hurriedly, hoping it is enough.

 He’ll never know, for his brother’s enthusiasm can no longer be contained.

 “It was amazing!” Thor all but yells. “We played Jotun hunt, and I ended up killing three of them!”

 Mother looks at him sharply; if Loki had to guess, his brother’s lack of reserve was not being appreciated. Loki just eats quietly, very happy it isn’t him.

 Thor, as usual, is oblivious. Since he has basically inhaled his food at the beginning of the meal, he doesn’t even have to pause to eat. “Loki was the Jotun the first time, because he agreed. Then it was Fandral, and Sif, and it kept changing between the three of them. Sif is really strong for a girl, and really good with swords. Even if we are only using wooden ones for now.”

 The memory of Thor’s state this afternoon makes him smile, enough to shake off the gloom left by his father. “Well, she did bruise you very nicely.”

 Thor glares at him, but there is no true anger behind it. “Just you wait until she turns on you. You’ll be worse off than I am.”

 “That’s because I’m smaller than she is!”

 “She is taller than me too!”

 “Really?” Loki says in mock shock. “I guess she will just destroy us all eventually!”

 “No, I’ll be stronger in the end.” Thor states proudly. “I’ll be the prince, so I’ll be stronger and rescue her from danger!”

 Loki stares at him flatly. “You will _never_ rescue Sif.”

 Thor seems ready to argue, before deflating. “Well… I’ll kill more monsters than her.”

 “Well, this little Lady Sif seems quite the fearsome creature!” Mother intervenes. “How long have you known her for?”

 As Thor launches himself into the detailed history of his relationship with Sif, all two years of it, Loki finishes his dinner calmly. Distantly, he wonders if anyone would notice him placing his remaining vegetable back in the serving bowl.

 His brother is talking about Sif beating some fool who mocked her, as she does on a monthly basis now. Hopefully, his brother has enough sense now not to join her many targets. Those bruises alone…

  _Go to your room, now!_

He almost spits out his water from shock (and fear). There it is again. Angry still. He is glad the voice is talking to him again, but does it have to be now?

  _Do not make me wait._

He winces. That tone allows no discussion.

 He looks around. Father is obviously thinking about all the problems he has as king, Thor is _still_ talking about Sif, and Mother is listening patiently.

 He glances at the hallway that leads to his room. Just getting up would be rude, and getting in trouble would just delay his arrival. What to do?

 His mother notices his distress. “Is something the matter, Loki?”

 He jumps on the occasion. “I’m feeling very tired, Mother. Could I please be excused?”

She smiles. “Well, I imagine you did have a very tiring day, but can you not wait?”

 He looks down, carefully dosing his expression: hesitation, submission, and a touch of unhappiness. “I suppose…”

 It works. “Oh, Loki. I do not mean to force you awake. Please go, if you really wish.”

 He smiles gratefully; the relief he knows shine through just makes his lie more convincing. “Thank you. Goodnight, Mother, Father, Thor.”

 Before anything else can be said, he heads towards his room as quickly as he can without it being suspicions. He opens the door with trepidation.

 I’m here, he thinks, what is it?

 And then he falls to his knees. Gasping for breath, one hand supporting his weight, the other clutching his chest, he tries to make sense of the feelings coursing through him.

 Fury, disappointment, scorn. He can barely breathe.

 What is this? What is going on?

 Why?

 His eyes are tearing up, his limbs are trembling. Fear adds itself to the mix when an almost growl like voice resonates in his mind.

  _You wretched little brat._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki will never know this, but after dinner, Frigga and Odin talked about Loki and the secret they keep. (Read: the All-father got yelled at, he pouted in return, and no progress was made).
> 
> A head canon I've seen floating around is that the proper plural for "Jotun" is "Jotnar". So when the children talk about "Jotuns", they are making a vocabulary mistake. Not that most adults particularly care about correcting them. 
> 
> This chapter took me some time to push out. Medical school keeps you busy, who knew? Anyway, my schedule will once again get very busy the next couple weeks. I should still have time to write, but we'll see how much I can produce next month.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, all mistakes are mine.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains explicit abuse on a minor, both physical and emotional.

 Loki can barely make sense of what is going on. The room is spinning, his limbs are failing him. Through his panting, he barely manages talking. “What…”

  _Silence!_

 Another wave of emotion hits him. Rage, scorn, disdain. His arms give out, leaving him to crash on the floor. He cries out, more in shock than in pain. He has fallen many time before, be it from running around or in the training ground. This though… this is different.

 Weakly, he rolls onto his back, and stares at the ceiling. Tears of pain and shock burn the side of his face as they slowly roll down.

 Why is this happening? What did he do?

 “Please…” Before he can finish, his throat clamps up, nearly cutting off his breath completely. His hands shoot up to his throat, pointlessly. There is nothing to remove, nothing he can do.

 He is completely helpless.

  _Did I not tell you to be quiet, boy?_ The voice is a snarl now.

 Yes, yes you did. I’m sorry. Please, I’m sorry!

  _Sorry, are you?_ It mocks him openly, for the first time in his life, his friend is mocking him. A new wave of tears spill from his eyes. _And what are you sorry for, little Loki?_

For talking, for making you angry! Please, I’m sorry!

 He is barely making sense, he knows. He can barely hear himself think over the sound of blood pounding in his ears. He just wants this to stop, please make it stop! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, please!

 Then, blessedly, the weight on his throat is removed. He is left there, gasping for breath.

 His friend has no body whatsoever, and yet Loki can feel him looming over him. Like a large shadow, engulfing him completely. He doesn’t even try to move from the ground as he feels the voice’s presence devouring him.

  _Oh, I’m certain you are. So very sorry to have spurned your only source of support. Such a weak, whimpering thing you are, always caving in, always needing someone else to make decisions for you…_

Loki is crying harder now. That’s not true, can’t be true, please!

  _Not true? Oh, you little liar._ The voice is almost affectionate in its insult. _Do you even know why you made me so angry?_

He stills at that.

 I don’t know. I think I know. I’m not sure.

 Why?

 He hears its laugh echo in his head. _You don’t, do you? Silly boy, what is worth an apology if you don’t even know what to apologize for?_ He feels a hand stroking his cheek, before gripping it harshly. _Tell me, why did you go to your brother?_

Confused, Loki just stares ahead blankly. I…I…

  _You can speak,_ the voice says benevolently.

 “I… Mother asked me to,” he stammers.

 He can feel the sneer in his mind. _And you would just do anything for her approval, wouldn’t you?_

“No! I mean…” Loki paused, trying to find the right words. This is a very dangerous topic, he knows. “It made her happy. And Thor, and…”

  _And wretched Odin, and Fandral, and that little girl!_ The voice sing songs, the mockery another cruel stab. _Are you really so foolish, Loki?_

He doesn’t understand. They said…

 “What…?” he croaks.

  _Do you truly think you could possibly make her pleased?_

This makes no sense. He saw her smile, she was happy with him!

  _One smile, and you think it is over? You think that one afternoon can appease her forever?_

“Appease? But… she’s just happy for me!” It is odd, defending her now when he had been ready to scorn her only minutes earlier. However, when his friend attacks her, he finds himself eager to see the best in her. She’s his mother. “She’s glad I have friends!”

  _Don’t be absurd, Loki,_ the voice reprimands, _you have no friends._

 Loki freezes. “But…”

  _Oh, you have me of course,_ it coos, _but no other. Surely you know?_

It hurts. It hurts, because even though it is something he has always thought, he never actually vocalized the thought. It’s true though.

 The voice is the only friend he has. The only one he had needed.

 He hates the way that makes him sound, and so he argues against it. “I played with them all day, Thor was glad to see me, he didn’t make fun of me!” His protest sounds weak in his own ears, no matter how vehemently he voices it. “They wanted me there!”

  _But they didn’t._ Through all this, the voice sounded so reasonable. _Fandral and Sif had no plans on you ever joining them._

He flinches. True, they hadn’t said anything of the sort. “Thor… Thor wanted me there…”

  _Ah yes, I suppose he did. It is always good to have a spare._

A spare…

  _For who else would play the monster? Who else would fit in the roles no one desires?_

“Do you mean the Jotun? I volunteered, because you…”

  _And what a good thing that was!_ The voice carries on, unperturbed, _I imagine any objections would not have been well received. You played your part nicely._ A pat on his head.

 But Thor couldn’t have known Loki had volunteered! Couldn’t have made him!

 But then again, he didn’t even have to try, so Loki couldn’t really know for sure, could he?

  _It is good you stayed in your proper place, he would have had no use for you either way._

He doesn’t want to believe it. Not that, not something so ugly.

 This afternoon had been fun. Maybe Thor and he weren’t the best of friends, but he had been welcome and even if it had been a bit awkward, he had enjoyed himself.

 Thor wanted him there.

 Mother had said so.

  _Oh, I am sure he wanted you there!_ His friend is unrelenting. _It must be nice, playing big brother from time to time. No doubt your mother was pleased. Certainly, the boy must have felt virtuous allowing you in his midst. But tell me this,_ a hand grabs his chin, _how long until he gets bored? How long until he tires of you, when you’re novelty has faded and all that’s left is a little brother that is constantly in the way?_

Loki had thought of such things. He had feared rejection coming in, had gone most of his life accepting that Thor wouldn’t want to interact with him. (Granted, he hadn’t actually thought about it very hard, had mostly been busy with his own friend).

 But with this afternoon… He thought he might have been wrong. Or that things have changed.

 He had been weary of course… but now, Loki realizes he has hope. Or had, before his friend started spewing all those awful, awful words. (truths?)

  _Ah, you hoped? How very optimistic of you. What has hopping done for you so far?_

Images flash through his mind, unwanted. His father. Baldr. Waiting for seidr lessons that are not coming. Well done, Prince Thor! His father again. Mother. Voices resonate in his head, a cacophony springing from his memories. Seidr is for girls! What, Loki?!

 Clutching his head, he moans. New screams add themselves to the mix, words unsaid and yet still heard in every silence and shrewd look.

 You are only the second prince! Why are you not more like your brother?

 Stop, please…

 Weak, like a girl. Wait your turn.

 He had waited! He had waited and waited, and Father had forgotten still! Why had he forgotten?

 Not worthy of notice. This is what you deserve. You will come second always behindalwayslonelynotThorwhynot?SuchadissapointmentnotawarriortherewillbenohonorinyouLokiLokiLokilokilokilokilokilokilokilokilokilokilokiloki! “Stop, I beg you, stop!”.

 It stops. His muscles give out.

 His sobs resonate in the silent room. Silent hurts, small aggressions, years of little pains he had felt but barely noticed, melding with his greatest sorrows and insecurities, crashing over him within seconds. The weight of it is unbearable. He cannot move, has neither the will nor the energy to do so. He feels so drained.

  _You hoped foolishly._ The voice is cold and distant, unpitying. _You are such a stupid little boy, going after that which you cannot have. Chasing a shadow, and for that you have cast me away. I have done so much for you, I give you my days and guide you always, and yet on a moment’s notice you would throw me away._

 He is so tired. He doesn’t want to hear this.

  _You are fickle. So fickle and weak willed, even to one who loves you as I do. Who loves you most._

“Please…” he hiccups, “Say no more, please, I can’t…”

 Something stabs through his mind. He shrieks.

 The pain is so intense his vision fades for a second. His hands shoot up to his forehead, and he rolls to his side. Tears stream down his head as he clutches his head.

 Where are the guards? Why is no one coming?

 Another stab, not as painful as the first but still sharp, takes his breath away.

 “Stop! Please stop!” Why is it hurting him? “No more, please!”

  _Will you listen, then?_ The anger is back again, cold and biting.

“Yes please! Just stop hurting me! I can’t… Please!” There are no eyes to look at, no face to appeal to, so all Loki can do is plead mutely with every cell in his body to the presence around him.

 He feels a hand under his chin. He whimpers.

 A kiss on his forehead. Then another.

  _Oh, Loki._ The tenderness in the voice is such a sharp contrast compared to the fury that dominated seconds ago. It makes him so confused, but not as much as it makes him relieved. _I only hurt you because you give me cause._

Weakly, his brows furrow. What cause?

  _I so wish to look out for you. I have given you so much of myself, of my love._ The tone turns mourning. _And yet, when I try to help you, you reject me._

He moans. “I’m not rejecting you…”

  _I am truthful out of my deepest affection for you. I have dedicated so much to you._ It sighs. _I want to do what is best for you. If you do not accept my love, how else am I supposed to get through to you?_

“I do accept it…” he hiccups. “I swear, I swear…” He starts shacking with need. The voice must know this, must understand…

  _Hush, now, hush._ He feels a hand stroking his cheek. _You have no business getting upset. I must ask, why demand my silence, why insult me so when I am only trying to help? Do you know how much it hurts, to be rejected by someone you love so?_

That last remark strikes true, strikes home. Closing his eyes in shame, he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

  _I know, I know you are. Yet you hurt me so._

“I know, I’m sorry,” he sobs. “I won’t do it again.”

 Fingers through his hair. _I am glad to hear it. So very glad…_ Suddenly, the grip tightens, pulling at his scalp. Loki stiffens. _Yet how can I trust you, after this?_

He whimpers again. “I didn’t mean to…”

  _I know, my Loki, I know. But you did it anyway._ The hand holding his hair loosens slightly, but its presence can still be felt. A warning. _What shall I have to do if you fail me again?_

“I won’t, I really won’t!’ he pleads.

  _A little liar, again. How can you promise you won’t, when you have shown yourself to be so fickle?_

“I’ll change!” The voice ignores his pleas

  _I love you so, little boy. Perhaps more that you love me._ Again, the voice sighs. _And yet, because of my love, I will do what I must, for your own good. I do everything for you, no matter how…unpleasant._

He doesn’t want to be stabbed again. The mere thought is enough to leave him trembling. He is racking his brain trying to find words his friend can believe. Eventually, he blurts out. “I swear I’ll try as hard as I can. I promise!” He is desperate. He is pathetic.

 A sigh. _I suppose that is all I can ask for._ His forehead is peppered with kisses. _Worry not, no matter what happens, I will not give up on you. No matter what it takes._

Dazed, Loki hums in agreement.

 Cupping his face, the voice asks: _Do you promise to trust my guidance completely, now?_

He nods franticly.

 At that, he feels the last of the threat disappear, feels himself taken in a warm embrace. _Oh, Loki,_ the voice sighs contently, _how I hope you’ll never make me hurt you again._

He shivers.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 He has no clear memory of going to bed. He had been lying on the floor for quite some time, he remembers, although he isn’t sure how long. He had felt so exhausted, so completely drained, that he could only bask in his friend’s presence. He had let his mind wander off, wrapped in warmth and a focus so intense it was nearly overwhelming.

 He remembers laying in his sheets, dozing off as the voice whispered to him.

   _I do not believe you should spend too much time with those children, at least not before consulting with me first. The age gap alone would make it hard for you to bond, and I will not let you suffer from such negligence. I know you may be used to it, you are only the second prince after all, but I will not stand for it. You will always be my main concern._

  _Of course your parents may not be pleased by this turn of event. I am certain your Mother would like for you to be in their continued company. She would think it for the best, true, but intent is not golden. I would also imagine your Father would want you to take example on those little warriors. Fine fighters, all of them._

_Alas it can’t be helped. You would look pathetic, trailing after your brother and his friend like a beggar after crumbs. I cannot imagine you would ever be able to be more in their eyes. They have such little consideration for seidr users after all, no matter how untrained they are. It is of no matter, you do not need their approval. I’ll continue to support you in your endeavors, even if no one else does._

_My sweet Loki._

 

 In the morning, he still feels tired for reasons completely unrelated to lack of sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  “So, Loki, what do you plan on doing today?” Mother asks, smiling.

 He looks up from his plate. There will be no one on the sparing grounds today, for Tyr and his men have left for Asgard’s borders this morning. The full day will be free, and so Thor wants to go to the Summer Market. No doubt he had already convinced his friends to go with him.

 Loki loves that market, which is a three month long affair. Merchants from five realms come to sell their goods, with bards and street performers tagging along in search of a new audience. The smell of herbs from Alfheim mix themselves with the scent of old books from Vanaheim, those that are allowed to leave its library. Loki is not allowed to purchase any yet, but there is a game to be played by trying to be given what he desires. Being charming but not begging, sharpening his bargaining skills against vendors much more experienced than he is.

 It is one of his favorite playgrounds.

  _I wanted us to look into that potion you discarded previously._

He swallows. “I’m going to go to the library.”

 He looks down so he doesn’t have to see the disappointment he is sure is on her face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 Loki has his hand pressed against his mouth to stifle his giggles. It wouldn’t do to get caught now.

 One of Idun’s basket is slowly levitating towards the bush he is hiding in, the goddess oblivious as she goes to collect deeper in the orchard, trying to find fruit ripe for picking. Although the golden apples inherently possess healing properties, their power reaches its peak after precisely seven moons of growth. This is what makes Idun’s task so important: anyone can pick a fruit, but only Idun knows exactly when each apple has appeared and when the magic is ripe. Each harvest is done with the utmost care and precision, for Idun takes her duty seriously.

 So seriously, in fact, that she refuses to let anyone help her, out of fear that they will somehow ruin her work. The unfortunate few that have insisted out of some misplaced sense of helpfulness have all quickly been cowered into submission. This of course leaves her alone handling the many baskets needed for the always bountiful harvest. Inevitably, some of them end up unattended for a short while at least.

 If one of those said baskets were to tragically disappear during her absence, well, Idun may very well lose her mind over it.

  _How very unfortunate that would be._

Loki snickers, and almost loses control of his levitating bounty, making him wince. He frowns in concentration. The basket is too big for him to carry easily on his own, at least not quietly enough so as to not attract attention. He has enough practice to keep it steady and horizontal, even if he is keeping it rather close to the ground. Unfortunately, he is not proficient enough to quickly drag it towards him, making this operation much more delicate than it could be.

 Shifting behind his bush, he doubles his focus. Idun is still far away, she won’t notice a thing. Just a little bit more, and he’ll have it in his arms. Things will be much easier afterwards.

 Or they would have been, if at that moment Thor, Sif and Fandral hadn’t come stomping into the orchard, making a beeline for his basket. Their stomping is enough to make him lose focus completely, and the basket falls back on the ground. Giggling, the three idiots come closer, having obviously not noticed him.

 “Hadn’t I said it would be there?” Fandral whispers ridiculously loudly. “Do you have the bag, Sif?”

 “No, Fandral, I’ve misplaced it along the way!” She rolls her eyes as she takes off a satchel and puts it on a ground. “Fill it up, quickly!”

 “Are we even sure these are worth it?” Fandral asks as he kneels down.

 “Mother says they are delicious.” Thor states matter-of-factly.

 “They are rather appealing, aren’t they?” Sif comments. “No wonder Idun takes such pride in her work.”

 “She is completely mad!” Fandral chuckles. “Guarding them like some jealous dragon.”

 “She is not the only one guarding them.” Thor pouts. “Father never lets me have any when I ask.”

 Ah, so that’s why they are here. Golden Apples, while not rare, are treasured. Therefore, an Aesir’s first taste is a milestone, a rite of passage into adulthood, akin to being granted a weapon. Thor would still have to wait at least a century and a half before being granted any.

 Loki, of course, hadn’t waited that long and had stolen one during a feast. Quite frankly, he found the taste underwhelming.

 His brother and his friends are obviously not as skilled as he is in those kinds of pursuits, for eventually an over-enthusiastic Thor knocks over the basket, sending the fruits tumbling down. Sif yelps and trips, falling straight onto Fandral. The whole affair is incredibly noisy, and inevitably, Idun come running towards them.

 “You! What is it you think you’re doing?!”

 Yes, they are much less adept at this. Otherwise, they would have had the good sense to hide their faces and run instead of staring at her like bewildered goats.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 “But it’s not as if it would have hurt anybody!” Thor protests.

 “That is irrelevant!” Father booms. “You knew very well those apples were not for you. You knew of the importance our people give to them, and yet you chose to go through with it.”

 “Why does it matter, anyway?” His brother pouts. “It’s not as if there aren’t plenty.”

 Loki resists the urge to snicker, so as to not attract any attention to himself. That would defeat the entire purpose of listening through the door. His oaf of a brother seems to have forgotten that the entire allure those apples hold for him is that they are forbidden. It’s the symbol that attracts Thor, not the apple itself.

  _Do not get involved, what he has brought upon himself is none of our concern._

 Indeed, it’s not as if Thor had invited him to come along anyway.

 “That is not the issue here, and you know it! Do not try to deflect this discussion!” The All-Father’s patience is fraying. “You purposefully disobeyed, and you will face the consequences!”

 Thor glowers, but remains silent.

 “You will assist in setting the banquet tables. You will follow the servants’ instructions, and I expect you to pay extremely close attention to the handling of Idun’s apples. Perhaps that will enlighten you as to their worth.” Father decrees. “And you will apologize to the Lady, as she was positively distraught by your actions.”

 That is an understatement to say the least. She had howled and yelled, her face red from the effort. Hidden as he was in the bush, Loki could hear everything as if he were standing right next to them, even though he wasn’t because they preferred their own company. At the end of the ordeal, Fandral had a dazed look on his face that hadn’t faded by the time the three were separated.

 Really, Loki could lessened the blow had he been with them, playing up his age, perhaps even portraying Thor as the poor older brother who hadn’t managed to reign in his innocent little brother’s enthusiasm. In fact, had he been there, they may have avoided the situation altogether. His tactics were much more discreet. Of course, he would have used magic, and Thor probably would have made fun of him for that. It was all irrelevant anyway, since he hadn’t been with them but with a friend of his own.

 The voices can still be heard through the door, but Loki dares not stay any longer. He is already pushing his luck staying for as long as he has, he might get caught. That would get him in true trouble. Listening to doors is hardly noble behavior.

  _It is rather the kind they expect of you, don’t you think?_ The voice chuckles.

 Loki bites his lip as he hurries away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 His mother’s gardens have always been one of his favorite places. Peace seems a permanent staple here, with the smell a grass and flowers and the soft song of birds filling the air. It is so quiet Loki sometimes believes that if he pays close attention he could hear Asgard’s great sea falling into the void.

 Mother sometimes weaves out here. In those times, she does not recreate the sight her visions grant her, but creates according to her own desires. A tapestry, a blanket, a scarf. Always gifts, for her family or for dignitaries that are soon to come to the palace.

 Some afternoons Loki comes and sits next to her. The silence is comfortable as she continues her task while he reads whichever book he has deigned to bring along. He holds quiet conversations with his friend whilst enjoying her company. Today _Tails of Laerad_ sits on his lap, an anthology of stories told by travelers along Yggdrasil. He has found the book this morning, he is already halfway though.

 After an hour or so Mother looks up from her work and smiles. “I admit I am starting to feel quite hungry. I believe I will have Hulda bring some treats from the kitchen. Is there anything you would care for?”

 “No thank you, Mother,” he smiles back. “All though I would be delighted to sit with you as you eat.”

 “Oh, Loki, you are too much of a charmer already.” She laughs, standing up. “I cannot imagine you are not bored, spending your afternoon with only an old woman like me.”

 “I also have my book,” he smirks.

 “And the book makes up for me, doesn’t it?” she teases. “I will return shortly, dear heart.”

 Watching her leave, Loki sighs contently. His mother has stopped insinuating that he should go to Thor so often, and for that he is glad. Every time she did so he felt pressured, as is there were some social performance he needed to attain. Of course, she still mentioned him and his friends from time to time, no doubt to prompt him into joining them. But that’s alright, his friend helps him stay resilient. He is perfectly content with the companionship he has.

 He wishes she wouldn’t want him to change that so much, but mothers will always worry. If he could tell her about the voice, he is certain she would be pleased.

 

* * *

 

 

 A week goes by. He has finally mastered the dissimulation potion. It was rather difficult at times, since it is supposed to be rubbed on someone’s skin in order to be effective, so it has to be at the right acidity, and dissimulation spells always tend to make the user not notice any injury until much later. It is a good challenge, a useful spell, and it was fun trying to work through the problems encountered, and he, he…

 The Summer Market came and went. He never attended.

 But that’s fine, there is always next time, ten years from now. Besides, he is very busy at the moment.

 “Loki.”

 He has spent the past week reading or talking to the voice during his free time, but he cannot allow himself to grow lazy. His friend would not tolerate it.

 “Loki.”

 His tutor is delighted with his work so far, but that doesn’t mean he should stop. It has been some time since he has attempted to feel seidr around him, and his friend insist he should not lose practice. His sensitivity to such energies would decrease otherwise, and that would be bad.

 “Loki!”

 Startled, he turns around. “Sif?”

 The older girl rolls her eyes. “Finally, you answer. I thought you had lost your hearing”

“Well, as you can see, I haven’t.” He crosses his arms.

 “You are not deaf, certainly,” she smirks, “but from the way I was shouting I still think it is at least partially impaired.”

 She is oddly playful today. In fact, she is positively exuding cheerfulness. It is an odd sight, not because he has never seen her happy before, but because she usually has a tighter grip on her emotions. Fandral is the exuberant one.

 Whatever the reason, it certainly isn’t because she is glad to see him. In fact, why is she here? He has no idea what business she might have with him.

 (He is pretty sure his friend wouldn’t approve of him talking to her).

 They stare at each other for a minute, before the awkwardness prompts Sif to talk.

 “Why didn’t you come to the market?”

 He affects indifference. “I was busy.”

 “Busy? Doing what?” she asks, bewildered.

 “Things,” he replies defensively.

 “Alright then.” She trails off hesitantly. However, before the silence lasts long enough for him to take his leave, she speaks again. “It was really something. A dwarf came all the way from Nidavellir to showcase his weapons. There were some fearsome looking axes there. I think Thor might have fallen in love a little.” She says his brother’s name with noticeable smile.

 “That’s nice.” If she’s trying to make him jealous, it’s not working. He chose not to go, after all.

 Sif opens her mouth, the closes it again. Her good mood is slipping now, giving way to irritation. He can’t help but feel a bit of satisfaction at that. “What do you want, Sif?”

 She bristles, but answers anyway. “Thor sent me to get you. We are going to play by the lake today, want to come?”

 Thor sent her? Well, that explains why she’s here. It’s not as if she would want to see him anyway. But why her. “And where’s Thor?”

 “I don’t know, he went to get Fandral.” She is clearly aggravated now. “Well, are you coming?”

 Ah, so Thor would rather go get Fandral then? “Why aren’t you the one that’s going to get him?”

 “I don’t know, Loki, does it matter?” And now she is angry with him. Typical, he barely has to try now, doesn’t he?

 But it does matter, because Thor cannot be bothered to go get his own brother, so he’ll send a lackey to do it instead. Thor prefers Fandral to him. “You’d just do anything Thor asks of you, wouldn’t you?”

 “He’s my friend!” Sif cries out, exasperated. “What has gotten into you, Loki?”

 They are hypocrites, that’s what! They didn’t want him before, why come now? Mother probably asked Thor to include him, it’s the only explanation. Thor never bothered sending someone to get him before, why else would he start now?

_Or maybe he felt sorry for you?_

He doesn’t need any pity! He’s fine, everything is fine, and he doesn’t need them!

 “Thank you for the invitation,” he says abruptly, “but I am busy.”

 Sif raises her eyebrows, clearly unimpressed. “Fine. You’ll know where to find us.” With a huff, she turns around and leaves.

 Loki watches her go. He didn’t even want to the lake anyway.

 Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Nearly a month since the last update, but it's here! This chapter gave me trouble!
> 
> So yeah... that happened. I hope my characterization is still holding up. Writing this fic is like trying to steer a boat during a storm. I always have to go back to make sure I don't go completely off course. Heck, this entire fic is me deviating widly from the initial plan. (I thought it was going to be a one-shot...Past me is so naïve.)
> 
> Pointless headcanon: The apples taste so delicious to humans or Aesir because they have a positive effect on their bodies. Through dubious science, it tastes good to them because it is so good for them. Jotnar, on the other hand, don't need them at all, so their taste is nothing special to them. Hence Loki not seeing the big deal about those apples


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, all mistakes are mine

_My dearest Loki,_

_I have half in mind to scold you for the rarity of your letters. How cruel of you to deny me such pleasures once you have given me a taste of them!_

_However, I find that I cannot blame you, for I am certain you neglect me in favor of your studies. Your assiduity in those aspects almost puts me to shame. If I were half as devoted as you to the pursuit of seidr, I imagine my tutors would be much more pleased with me. Truly, your intelligence is a beacon with which I would be wise to guide myself! I am writing this letter in the grand library, and I cannot help but think that you would appreciate it far more than I._

_Preparations for the end of harvest festival are keeping everyone quite busy, including myself. The part I play in the ceremonies is small, but it does not help my nervousness in the least. It is a miracle I am not trembling, as I feel as brittle as an autumn leaf. It is your luck that Asgard has no such distinct seasons as Vanaheim does! I imagine the ceremonies must be reduced by half through this alone._

_I do not complain of course, as the celebrations are as joyful an event as I have ever known. I do admit though that I sometimes wish I had more leisure time. It must have been days since I have not picked up my embroidery!_

_I do so hope you will reply! Letters are a poor substitute to your company, but they will have to do for now. Perhaps one day you will come to Vanaheim, or I shall see you in your own realm. My parents have mentioned fostering a couple times in my presence. I believe the arrival of that boy from the Sveigdir Mountains in Asgard may cement their decision._

_With the utmost affection,_

_Sigyn Iwaldidottir._

Loki raises his eyebrows as he reads through the letter. No matter how many he has received, he is always surprised by Sigyn’s writing. It is always so….

  _Pompous? Precious? Pretentious?_ The voice’s tone is light as it gives out its suggestions.

He snorts. All those words apply really, but he settled diplomatically on “dramatic"

 When the delegation had come all those years ago, he had been too impressed by all the Vanir Lords and Ladies, so novel to his eyes, to linger on their speech pattern. Moreover, he hardly concerned himself with such things at that age, preferring to leave the adults to their own business.

 But now that he was older, looking back… They all had the same air, acting as if their words were so precious and delicate that it would be a crime against the realms to speak them plainly. Exaggerations, metaphors, sentences so tortured you could hear the affected sigh through the paper.

 To think they had seemed so elegant to his eighty year old self.

  _Perhaps that is why they act so,_ the voice suggested pleasantly. _Perhaps the neighboring Lords possess the same intelligence as an infant, and are therefore easily impressed._  

 Loki’s laughter echoes through his bedroom. “Then it is a wonder Lord Iwaldi has not conquered the neighboring earldoms.”

  _Now really, Loki,_ his friend snickers, _could you stand to rule over such fools, in his stead? I am certain the very thought of it makes the good Iwaldi shudder._

 “I suppose I will judge for myself. I will have plenty of time to speak to the Vanir at the feast tonight.” Speaking of which, he should probably get ready for it soon.

 He folds the letter and puts it in the box where he keeps the rest of them. He doesn’t read them again once he puts them away, but safekeeping them is a habit his mother wishes for him to keep. He has no idea why she insists upon it, but he has learnt long ago to humor her on small matters like these. To do otherwise is a waste of energy.

 He turns towards his bed, where his outfit for tonight’s feast has been carefully laid out. Chosen by his mother, of course. Apparently, no one in Asgard trusted a one hundred and twenty five year old boy to dress himself properly. He blames Thor entirely.

 About ten years ago, some Council member had done some good work in a certain realm. Loki can honestly not remember who it was or what he did, but it had been reason enough for a feast. At least by Aesir standards, which are admittedly rather low. What he remembers vividly is that he could not focus on the merriment around him for the life of him. Instead, all he could think about was how uncomfortable he was in this brand new leather garb his mother had commissioned for him. It felt stiff, heavy and suffocating and on that moment Loki hated everyone involved in the process of making it, from the seamstress who embellished it to the cow that died to give its skin.

 Thor had insisted on dressing himself on his own, claiming to be old enough to do so. Father and Mother had decided to allow it, which they no doubt regretted later on. Indeed, his brother had appeared in the worn leather training armor he would use during practice, covered in mud stains and scratches. He had his wooden sword in a scabbard on his hip, along with iron shoulder pads and what was probably a red sheet hanging upon them. He looked ridiculous, Loki thought, and entirely too pleased with himself.

 However, this incident could have sailed away without any consequences had Thor not decided to show off his skills to all those attending. This resulted in several bowls being spilled and many cups broken to be broken. Moreover, Fandral and Sif had taken his display as a challenge. In an effort to outdo him, they had each attacked him. To be more efficient, Sif had tried tying her dress up to her knees, only to tear it, much to her mother’s outrage. Trying to evade her furious parent, she ran past Fandral, shoving him to the side. The boy stumbled backwards, stepping on Thor’s makeshift cape just as his brother was jumping to get away. Thor went stumbling on his back, his legs kicking in the air as he fell. A bowl of extremely ripe fruit got knocked over, and a Lady nearby ended up covered in crushed grapes and peaches.

 It had all been done in the span of thirty seconds. Thor and his friends had been dragged out of the room, each receiving a momentous tongue-lashing by their parents. Thor had been the worst off, since the All-Father’s fury is legendary indeed.

 In the end, it had been decided that Thor (and therefore Loki, out of precaution), would no longer be allowed to bring what they willed with them during feasts, nor choose their outfits until they could be trusted to do it properly.

 “And no capes!” Father had snapped, effectively ending the matter.

  Loki sighs at the memory.

  _It’s for the best, really,_ the voice comments, _you do not have the stature for a cape._

Not like Thor.

 He is grateful for his father’s rule, for he could not bear wearing a cape in addition to all the other layers he is forced to deal with. An undershirt, a shirt, a vest, another vest, leather armbands, all of them with various kinds of pleating. Thank the Norns that the typical Aesir garb includes simple pants, and not the layered skirts some elves wear!

 There is no use delaying, the feast will start in a couple hours, and he’ll have to be ready beforehand to welcome their guest. He starts stripping, removing the casual shirt he usually wears.

 “Do you think it will last long?” he asks as he tosses the piece of clothing on the bed.

  _I doubt it. The guest of honor is a child still, it would not do to keep him up too late._

“I can’t imagine leaving home at a hundred and seventy,” Loki muses. “I don’t know how he manages it.”

  _Ah, yes, but the Aesir do tend to coddle their young so…_

“I’m not coddled!” His outrage is perhaps a little disproportionate, but still. Would a coddled person deal with these outfits on his own?!

  _Aren’t you?_ The voice’s drawl is pronounced. _The dwarfs send their children as apprentices in the forges at one hundred years old – the equivalent of one hundred and eighty for an Aesir. The Jotnar are sent three moons in the wilderness at around the same age_ , _learning survival in a brutal fashion. Even the Vanir send their children away eventually, at least to a different earldom if not to another realm entirely. The Aesir do nothing of the sort. You, my Loki, are coddled._

He pouts as he puts on the elegant pair of pants. “I wouldn’t like to be sent away no matter the reason.”

  _Of course you wouldn’t. You couldn’t survive a day without me! You need me too much._

Loki doesn’t know how to respond to this. On one hand, he very much wants to protest that he doesn’t need the voice at all, that he could do fine on his own. On the other, he doesn’t want to hurt its feelings, and what if it takes it as a challenge and actually goes away? He doesn’t have any other friends – not that he needs any, of course – and then he’ll be alone…

 He will not go down that train of thought. “If I went anywhere, you’d come with me right?”

  _Why would you think that?_ The voice is more amused than anything else, so Loki feels confident answering.

 “Well, then you’d be alone. No one to talk to in the palace! You’d be so bored!” he teases.

 However, the banter he expected in reply never comes. Instead, his friend stays silent for longer than what is comfortable.

 Loki feels oddly cold.

  _Ah yes. That is true…_

 He clutches at his half buttoned shirt, shivering.

 And suddenly, the moment has past, and the voice is cheery once more. _You need not worry, Loki-mine. You will never be rid of me._

Loki lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I know.”

  _Good. Now hurry up, the Vanir will be arriving soon, you’ll need to be there._

He complies hurriedly, struggling with the buckles on the first vest for a moment. Once that’s finally over, the rest is quickly done. He looks at himself in the mirror _,_ making sure nothing looks out of place. Anything less, and he’ll be dressed by a servant again like a seventy year old.

 Satisfied with what he sees, he picks up the final touch, the armbands. He is about to put them on when the voice intervenes.

  _Leave them._

“But they have been picked out for me!” he protests. “Mother and Father will want me to wear them!”

  _And I do not think you should wear them. They look too heavy on you. Leave them here._

“But…!”

  _Loki._

His protest is cut short by the weight behind his name. He gulps.

 Slowly, he puts the armbands down.

 He is rewarded by a pat on his head. _Good boy. Now come on, we do not wish to be late._

Without further ado, he leaves his room, heading towards the throne room. Or rather, a small chamber next to it. His mother requested that both her sons meet her there, so that they may enter the hall together. He is halfway there when he comes across his brother, sporting an outfit as stuffy as his.

 He doesn’t see his brother much these days, baring the daily meals. He is mostly off with his friends while Loki does his own occupations on his side. It’s plenty of time really. At the table, they can share stories about their mutual dislike of Freyja and whichever tutor has been particularly unpleasant by their standards. Other times, they will talk with Mother, and more rarely their Father. The conversations can be nice (except when Thor boasts about his new feat in training that they when Loki still hasn’t graduated from simple wrestling lessons.)

 However, Loki seldom joins Thor when he is with Fandral and Sif. He has tried a few times, when the three of them were off to a place he himself was interested in, when the voice allowed it of course. Every time, he had felt very much like an outsider. The three are always quick to reference some past event he wasn’t at, some private joke he isn’t in the know of. Besides, he could tell Sif didn’t like him very much, at least not since she had come to invite him to go to the lake. She would always look at him as if she were wary of him. Eventually, he stopped joining them altogether.

 The two aren’t here though, so he feels comfortable enough to walk up to his brother and fall in step next to him.

 “Do you know anything about him, brother?” Thor asks.

 Loki doesn’t need to inquire to whom his brother is referring to. “No more than you. He comes from the mountain province of Vanaheim, he is about your age. I think his name is Hogun.”

 “Yes, I know all that.” His brother glances at him sideways. “I thought Sigyn might have given you some more information, with all the letters you to are exchanging.”

 “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.” His tone is voluntarily light-hearted. “We only write to each other every other month.”

 “Of course.” Thor replies pleasantly. “Are you certain you aren’t disappointed she isn’t the Vanir coming today?”

 Not this again, he almost groans. Will his brother ever tire of that jest? “Why would I be?”

 “Well, it is hard to court a girl when she lives realms away.”

 “I don’t want to court her, so your concern is unfounded.”

 “You know Mother would be delighted if you confessed…”

 “There is nothing to confess!” He is snappish now, but Thor is too amused by his own breathtaking wit to be bothered.

 “Really? The two of you are “merely friends”? With a girl?” His brother teases.

 Well, no, not really. They aren’t _friends._ His only real friend is the voice. She is just…

  _An acquaintance?_ the voice supplies.

 Well, yes, an acquaintance. He only started talking to her because Mother asked to. They exchange letters every so often, and he does like reading what she had to say. And she doesn’t mind him talking about seidr. It makes sense, really, the people from her earldom have an affinity for the softer arts, and many prized books from the Vanaheim library have been written by people form her house. So yes, they aren’t not-friends, but not quite…

 He decides to avoid the issue altogether. “How is Sif faring, pray tell?” The sarcasm within his voice is palpable.

  “That’s different!” Thor objects. “Sif isn’t really a girl!”

 “Oh? Has she successfully deceived the entirety of Asgard then?”

 “You know what I mean by that! Sif doesn’t count.” His brother grumbles. “Besides, she’d probably punch me if I said anything like that.”

 “So you thought about it?” Loki asks sweetly.

 “No! Loki, stop it!”

 No, Loki won’t stop it, because if his brother is willing to tease him on this, he had better be ready to be teased in return. “I mean, you do spend a suspicious amount of time with her…”

 “Fine, fine, I take it back!” his brother snaps. “Norns, you’re exhausting!”

 “You started it.”

 Before anything more can be said, they arrive at their destination. Mother is waiting for them there, standing tall in a midnight blue gown. Threads of silver and gold are laced in a complex pattern covering the entirety of the dress. Over her shoulders lays a cape of the same color, held in place by a crystal broche.

 She looks beautiful, Loki thinks. Very much like a queen.

 She smiles when she sees them. “There you are, my loves! Come on over, it is almost time.”

 They walk towards her and take their place at her side. Loki slips his hand into hers.

 She looks down at him, smile still in place. It wavers slightly when she glances at his forearms. “You are not wearing your vambraces!”

 “I didn’t like them, they look too heavy on me.”

 “Loki.” She sighs and frowns. “You know they have picked out for a reason.”

 “But what harm does it do if I don’t wear them? I do not need them, and they won’t cause any trouble by their absence!”

 “Please Loki, just wear them next time.” His mother says tiredly.

 He hums non-committedly. It really will depend on what his friend thinks, but he isn’t against it on principle.

 The doors open, and the three of them step into the throne room, taking their place on the stairs. Father is sitting on top, Gungnir in his hand, bearing the same attitude he would adopt for any foreign dignitary.

 In truth, Loki would hate being greeted with such a sight on his first time to a foreign realm. However, Mother had explained it is extremely important to apply such strict protocol today. Hogun came from the Sveigdir Mountains, an earldom in the northern part of Vanaheim. Although the Vanir have one king to rule them all, the realm is divided in several earldoms, each with its own Lord, and each of those lands are extremely independent. As such, they have all developed their own customs.

 The mountaineers in particular are very attached to proper protocol, seeing it as a mark of utmost respect. In this case, Hogun is the son of a foreign Lord visiting Asgard. No matter what age he is, it is expected that the Aesir greet him as they would any other, and that he in turn would follow the rules a dignitary should.

 Loki is extremely glad he isn’t one of those Vanir. Beyond the intimidation he would surely feel in the boy’s place, protocol is just so _boring._ He would never last a day having to follow every single rule!

 His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the front gates opening. The Vanir had arrived.

 He slowly makes his way to the throne, escorted by a few adults. Guards, some man in a robe that was probably an official of some sort, a woman with a pouch on her side, most likely a healer in case of any emergencies. All of them would be gone this time next week. They are only here to make sure their Lord is well settled in Asgard.

 Eventually, the boy is standing in front of the steps, looking solemn in his dark clothing. He kneels.

 “Hail, Odin All-Father. You honor me with your welcome.” The words are spoken clearly and firmly. The boy is obviously used to such greetings.

 “Greetings, Hogun of Sveigdir. It is our honor to host you. May Asgard be open to you for as long as you see fit to stay.” Father’s voice echoes throughout the rather empty halls. The arrival of a Vanir boy is not enough to bring out the masses.

 Hogun rises then, but still remains in front of the throne. The two of them exchange some more pleasantries, which Loki is too bored to listen to. It’s not as if he hasn’t heard the same kind of empty greetings a thousand times before.

 Instead, he keeps busy by talking to the voice, listening to it comment about some Lord’s demeanor or some Lady’s unfortunate appearance. It is all so much more entertaining than anything going on around him, so much so that he almost misses the end of the conversation. Fortunately, he is alerted by his mother’s hand on his shoulder.

 “There will be a feast shortly, Lord Hogun.” She addresses him with a proper title, but Mother’s voice still holds the same endearment most women have when talking to a child. “My sons would be delighted to escort you to the dinning room.” A squeeze on his shoulder informs him that her sons had best not disagree.

  And so they do, walking in the halls with their newly acquired companion. The truth is, Loki was in no mood for a feast tonight, had just wanted to curl up in his bed with a book and his friend’s company. Alas, he is a prince, and he has had enough lectures from Father to know he is to act according to his standing.

 “So tell me, what do you think of Asgard?” he inquires politely. It is perhaps the most unoriginal conversation starter he can come up with, but a least no one will be able to say he hasn’t tried.

 “It is very different from my home.”

 He waits for him to elaborate. Waits some more.

 Nothing comes.

 He is tempted to stop his efforts here. This is looking more and more like an ordeal. However, Thor is next to him right now, and Loki doesn’t trust him not to tell Mother should he not cooperate. “How so?”

 “Much more gold here. In my home, we use mostly black stone.” His voice never strays from the initial monotone.

 Again, nothing further.

  _Well, I suppose we will not have to worry about him speaking pretentiously._ His friend’s quip does nothing for his growing irritation.

 Is he doing it on purpose?  Does he think Loki _wants_ to engage in such trite conversations? He is only making an effort because Mother and Father would never let him hear the end of it if he didn’t.

 He decides it doesn’t matter. If Hogun doesn’t want to talk, then it suits Loki fine. He will not bother himself or the Vanir.

 Thor, however, had other ideas. “It’s is truly awe-inspiring, do you agree?” he boasts. “The entire city is much the same! You’ll have the chance to see it during your stay!”

 His brother goes on in a rather one-sided conversation. Hogun says the bare minimum of words needed to answer his question, and Thor happily goes on about Asgard, the palace and life as a prince.

 It goes on for quite some time. They take their places at the banquet table, Hogun next to mother, then Thor and then Loki. The head of the escort party takes his seat next to the All-Father.

  _It should really be the young boy next to the King, as he is the most high ranked of them all,_ the voice points out. _I suppose they still wish for the boy to be in the company of people his age._

 Protocol only goes so far, then.

 Thor continues to upkeep most of the conversation during the first part of the feast. During that time, the meat is cut and distributed (Hogun getting the piece of choice), Father and Mother make polite conversation each on their own side. This goes on for quite a while, until Father stands up, cup in hand.

 “Hail Hogun of Sveigdir. May your stay in Asgard be fruitful in bonds and in knowledge!”

 “Hail!” the room echoes, before drinking.

 That cheer was the signal most have been waiting for, as people start getting up shortly after. Friends sit together, young children run outside to play, and some people retire altogether. Thor looks through the crowd before standing up.

 “Sif! Fandral!” His brother waves at his friends. “Come here!”

 The two settle down next to him, Loki having diligently scooted over.

 “These are my friends, Sif and Fandral. I’m certain the three of you will get along very well.” Thor beams.

 Hogun nods in their direction, his expression still as guarded as ever.

 “I am delighted as well!” Fandral exclaims cheerily. He groans when Sif elbows him in the ribs.

 “Ignore him, he talks too much.” Fandral makes a move to protest, but she quickly cuts him off. “Are you enjoying the feast?”

 “It is very bountiful. The All-Father has received me well.”

 “Asgard’s feasts are second to none!” Thor proclaims proudly. “It is the proper ending to the day of a warrior.”

 “It is a wonder not more of them are fat.” Fandral quips. “I would be careful if I were you, great mean have already fallen is such pitfalls. The Lord Volstagg is already getting plump.”

 “No he isn’t!” Sif’s protest is a bit too vehemently. “He is looking as mighty as ever.”

 Fandral’s smile is somehow gleeful and predatory at the same time. “As mighty as ever? Why Sif, I never knew your heart to be so taken!”

 Thor laughs at that, loudly. The corner of Hogun’s mouth twitches, but Loki is unsure if it’s out of amusement or irritation.

  _Are we even certain he is capable of that level of emotion? We certainly have seen no evidence of it so far._

He snickers before he can stop himself. When he catches himself, he feel a brief moment of panic.

 He isn’t supposed to do such things! He is supposed to keep the voice a secret, and this is exactly the kind of careless behavior that could get him caught!

 He looks around, but no one seems to have noticed. Perhaps they thought he was laughing in response to Fandral’s comment. Or maybe they hadn’t been paying attention to him at all.

 It’s fine, he doesn’t care. It’s better that way anyway.

 “What? No!” Sif is blushing now. “You know he is courting Gudrun!”

 “And I am certain it breaks your heart!” Again, Fandral is cut short by Sif punching him.

 “Shut your mouth, would you? That is not what I meant.”

 Thor laughs some more, and cannot resist joining in. “There is no shame in it, Sif. He is a mighty warrior indeed.”

 The friends banter some more, whilst Loki looks on from the side.

 His friend has insisted on him not reacting to other people’s bait. And it has worked for the most part. They tried getting more and more creative, he retaliated with mysterious incidents afflicting all those who teased him. It took some time, but now they don’t openly antagonize him anymore.  They still sneer of course, the voice said they always would, but they don’t seek him out anymore. They leave him alone, and that’s perfect.

 But why is Thor so friendly with Sif? Why, when she… He has rejected Loki because he is younger, but has accepted her instead? He has known her for barely twenty years, why are they acting so close?

 It isn’t fair.

 Not that he cares of course. He has his friend, and its fine. Besides, Thor has rejected him, didn’t really want to be with him so why should Loki seek him out? He doesn’t care, really, he just doesn’t see why he chose her over him.

 Eventually, Sif cuts through the chatter. “I admire him for his warrior skills, and the example he provides. Nothing more.”

 This gets Hogun’s attention. “You practice fighting, then?”

What? Him as well? He has stayed silent through everything, but he is willing to engage Sif out of all people? Why? What is the matter with them?!

 “You should know, Hogun, that Sif only has eye for her swords,” Loki spits out. “It’s just as good, since she is too rough and graceless to ever be a true Lady.”

 She turns towards him with a glare. “And you care only for your books, Loki. My interests are more useful, at least.”

 “Yes, I’m certain swordsmanship will be very useful once you have a husband and five children to take care of. Sewing is dreadfully overrated.”

 “And what use will seidr be when you have to be a warrior? You’ll spend your entire existence lacking honor!”

 “So Hogun, why have you come to Asgard out of all places?” Fandral speaks much louder than necessary, almost laying his body across the table in an effort to draw the attention away from the two of them.

 Hogun has the good sense to pretend not to notice. “Asgard’s warriors are famed across the realms. It has been decided that my training would be best if I did it here. The All-Father agreed.”

 “You may come to regret that decision once you meet Tyr. The man makes even veterans cower!”

 The conversation goes on, about weapons and the hardships of training, a subject Loki couldn’t talk about even if he wanted to. As it is, he contents himself with ignoring Sif, who is still glaring daggers at him. He looks down at his plate, picking at his food for a while.

 He risks a glance towards the group, only to see Thor looking at him reproachfully. At him only, and not at Sif.

  _Well, he would side with her._

 He gets up in a huff, and walks away. He doesn’t hear a single protest, and even catches Sif sighing in relief. Thor pats her back sympathetically.

 He walks away faster.

 Dam her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, didn't manage to update before the end of February. And for a rather uneventful chapter too...
> 
> I don't know how I ended up giving Hogun this background. There is virtually no information on him in the wikias, so it as really just me playing around with different headcanons. I hope it didn't come off as too weird or unrealistic. I mean, he is virtually ten years old when he shows up in Asgard, but then again, cultural differences... 
> 
> Once again, I invite you to criticize me on anything you want, characterization, pacing etc. Or even just giving me your impressions. When I write these author notes, I always want to explain what is going on in each character's head and explain their reactions, but then again, my story should hold up on its own. Ugh. Writing is hard.
> 
> Also, gratuitous "The Incredibles" reference, because I am easily entertained.


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, all mistakes are mine.

Eyes closed, laying on his bed, Loki tries to empty his mind.

 It does not come naturally for him, unlike for some other people he might mention. (Thor). However, it is an important part of feeling seidr, and the voice insists he keeps up the habit. So he breathes in and out, in and out, and tries to be as receptive as possible. Practice makes him keep hold of his patience longer than he did at the beginning, but he still does not care for this technique. Much too passive for his taste.

 Eventually though, he starts to sense the distinctive signature of seidr. Tentatively, he follows its lead, like gently pulling on a thread to see what it connects to. Rushing this may make him break this metaphorical thread, and then he’ll have to start over again. Not unbearable, but extremely tedious all the same.

 There! He has it, the seidr is shaping itself faster now. He can see it, echoes of colors and shapes that aren’t really there but exist all the same. It has never been quite as clear as the first time he had seen it, but he can still sense enough of it to appreciate its beauty.

 He basks in it, letting the sensations wash over him. “It’s funny,” he murmurs eventually.

  _What is?_

The voice often asks questions like that, when it could most likely just pluck the answer from his mind. Loki doesn’t know if it does listen and asks out of respect, or just does not always actively pay attention to what is going on in his mind. Either way, he appreciates being able to vocalize his thoughts. “The seidr feels blue.”

  _Indeed it does,_ his friend agrees. _What of it?_

“It’s just odd, is all. My magic shapes green, it dissolves into gold. Most of the seidr I’ve seen here is gold – ”

  _Gold in Asgard. How very novel,_ it deadpans.

 “Redecorating would cost too much,” he shoots back. “What I mean is, I expect gold or green to show, but when I reach out, I am quickly surrounded by blue. I do not mind it, it just isn’t what I expected, that’s all.”

  _The realms are just full of surprises,_ it drawls. _Hopefully you shall be able to sleep soundly after this groundbreaking observation._

He snorts. “My torment will be never ending.”

 His conversation is interrupted by a knock on the door. A second later, Thor comes stepping into his bedroom.

 Loki rolls his eyes. “Do come in, Thor! No need to be shy!”

 “You didn’t hear me at the entrance of your chambers,” his brother replies. “Were you talking to yourself?”

 Loki glances at him, and in the same instant promises himself to install a silencing spell of some sort as soon as he is able. “No.” He gets up, installing himself at the edge of the bed. “What do you want?”

 “Hogun’s nameday is two weeks away.”

 “The third day of Heyannir, I am aware.” He adopts a tone of wonderment. “Coincidently, it was also on that day last year, and the year before that. Yggdrasil certainly works in mysterious ways!”

 “Do not mock me! It is not what I intend to say, and you very well know it.”

 “Do I?” he inquires sweetly. His brother’s answering glare is rewarding enough that he decides to go no further. “Apologies, do continue.”

 “You illustrated my point perfectly,” Thor huffs. “Don’t do that at the celebration.”

 “Celebration… That you think I will attend?” Loki raises his eyebrows. Although a feast would be held, such a relatively private occasion would not make attendance mandatory.

 “Why wouldn’t you?” His brother’s confusion is genuine. “The Vanir celebrate their nameday once every quarter of a century. Surely, Hogun would like as many people as possible to be present?”

 “Ah, yes, because he so enjoys interacting with people,” Loki deadpans. To distract his brother before he can get irritated again, he asks: “Will his family be there?”

 It works better than expected. Thor’s speech suddenly turns passionate as he stares at Loki . “No, they are not! Can you imagine? He has been here for twenty years now, and not once has he seen his parents in that time. And they will not come for his nameday! Father and Mother would never do such a thing to us!” Loki is not so certain about that, but says nothing. “I asked Hogun about it, and he told me he saw nothing wrong with this situation. But I cannot imagine that to be true!”

 “They are Vanir,” Loki replies simply. “From the mountain, at that. They’re different.”

 “I do not understand why they would do any differently from us,” Thor grumbles. “Everything goes for the best in Asgard.”

_Perhaps they do, when your name is Thor Odinson._

“Never mind that,” he continues, “I came to ask you to be nicer when you sit at our table, you’ll need to be nice to them.”

 Loki rolls his eyes. “And did you think of asking me if I planned to go?”

 “You will, right?” Thor answers, bewildered. “You are my brother, even if you annoy me at times, and Hogun is my friend, of course I want you both to be there!”

 He sounds so benevolent saying this that Loki wants to punch him. Instead, he invokes care for the Vanir, even if has in truth little consideration for his problems. “It isn’t your nameday. Did you ask _Hogun_ before announcing my presence was desired?” Foolish question, he already knows the answer just looking at his brother’s face.

 “Well, no…” Thor stammers, cut short. “But I am certain he wouldn’t mind. You are a Prince! I see no reason he would.”

 “Hogun doesn’t like me, why _would_ he want me there?”

 “What do you mean? He never said anything about that!”

 “He doesn’t need to, oaf. We do not seek out each other’s company, he barely talks to me – which, admittedly, is not saying much when it comes to him – and I do believe he still looks down on me because of that one time in the South Hall – “

 “You stuck Sif’s hair on the door and slammed it shut!” Thor cuts him off. “She could have gotten grievously injured!”

 “As warriors are wont to. She should be more prepared for injury if she has any hope for success.” Loki shrugs. “Moreover, I believed she feared for her hair more than anything else. She does love it so.”

 “She is a girl.”

 “In that much, at least. It is the only womanly behavior she allows herself.”

 Thor says nothing. Instead, he looks around the room, eyeing a discarded cauldron with opened potions books next to it. His shifts slightly on his feet, his thoughts all too clear. Loki bristles. “Do not start, Thor.”

 “I said nothing!” his brother exclaims, blushing furiously.

 “You do not need to!” Loki bites back. “I know what you think of this, what most think of it, but I will not have you ridicule me again!”

 “I won’t! And they are just jests, brother!” he protests. “But if it bothers you so, I still do not understand – “

 “What you do not understand could fill several books, of the thicker kind.”

 “It would be much easier if you would just be a warrior like everyone else!” Thor raises is voice, annoyed by being interrupted.

 “I can be a warrior with seidr!”

 “A real one, Loki!”

 Loki howls in frustration. “Why do you care anyway?”

 “I’m merely saying, everyone knows Prince’s should become great warriors, and I don’t understand why you wouldn’t.”

 “Funny you should dislike me not doing as people expect,” Loki spits out, “and praise Sif for not staying in her weaving classes.”

 “That’s not the same!” His brother is vehement.

 “It never is, when it comes to Sif! Why is she any different?”

 “Because she’s going to become a warrior. She is fierce, and talented, and it would be a waste to see her become just a housewife!” Thor bellows. “Norns, it’s impossible talking to you!” He turns and starts walking away. “She should have been born a man, and you a woman, and everything would have been much better!”

 “I’ll see you at the feast then, brother!” Loki calls back viciously.

 “Probably,” Thor roars back, “since you never deign talking to anyone, you’ll most likely shun us until then!”

 Loki sneers at his brother’s back, before slamming the door shut. With a roar, he flings himself onto the bed, burying his head in the pillows.

  _Your brother must be very enamored with the girl,_ the voice whispers, _to take her defense against you._

His fists clench around the sheets.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 He does end up going at the feast. He does not sit with them, though, but about two tables down. A blond-haired girl is seated next to him, her conversation is interesting enough and Loki finds that he isn’t bored, at least.

 His friend suggests they retire early though, and so he leaves to his chambers.

 

* * *

 

 Loki can’t believe he ever resented weaponless sparing. He had truly thought it to be the worst that could happen to him, the height of suffering.

 He had been such a fool.

 Broadswords are worse. Much, much worse. Even with the practice weapons they are given, made out of wood and therefore lighter than metal, he is struggling. The sword is almost as large as he is, and uncomfortably long in his opinion. With so much of his attention spent on keeping it steady, the only attacks he manages are blind swings in front of him.

 Even against a fool such as Halnarrson, this yields limited results. Moreover, the boy is much taller and larger than him, as are most people. He barely has to try to send Loki stumbling back. The entire experience is so horrendous, Loki is almost relieved when he trips and falls flat on his back. Almost, but not quite, because he doesn’t even need to look up to know that his opponent bears an extremely smug smile.

 He gets up as quickly as he can, dusting himself off. He can handle Gildi’s self-satisfaction, since it is mostly quiet: the boy would never brag in front of Tyr, seeing as their instructor does not care for him at all.

 Loki may have taken advantage of that fact a couple times. It may have resulted in more than one private conversation between Tyr and Halnarrson, who was so dishonorable as to blame the second prince for whatever may have gotten him in trouble.

 Maybe.

 There is no proof though.

  Turing his back on the boy, he walks towards the edge of the terrain. Until a new opponent is available for him to practice with, he is to stay out of the way. It is a rule the instructors are extremely keen upon, and one he has no problem obeying.

 “All-Father! Forgive me, I had not seen you!”

 Loki’s head turns around so quickly his neck hurts. Tyr is kneeling, turned towards the stands. Looking up, he spots his father standing, looking down at the practicing bunch.

 The king waves his hand. “Rise, noble Tyr. My entrance was discreet.” He steps down the stairs, walking towards the barrier. “I merely wished to witness today’s training. Do carry on.”

 “Yes, my Liege.”

 The general stands up, and looks through the group of now much more attentive students. Among them, Loki is having trouble breathing. How long has his father been there? Did he see him fall against Gildi?

  _I imagine he wouldn’t be surprised if he had._

 But it’s not fair! Loki is not the best in this group by any means, but he certainly manages much better with other weapons! Had they been practicing with a rapier or a smallsword, he wouldn’t have performed so miserably!

 He is not that poor a fighter, truly!

  _But not as good as Thor…_

 No, he thinks bitterly, but that’s nothing new.

 They begin sparing once more, the whole affair made much more intense from the King’s presence. Trainees wish to perform, trainers wish to impress. The only one that seems unaffected is Tyr, who is as merciless as ever.

 Loki practices with a young boy who struggles as much as he does, a fact he is unspeakably grateful for. He doesn’t know him well, the son of some Jarl recently returned from his province. It happens fairly often, families would move out of the capital to serve as representatives of the All-Father, until they were called back on some new mission. It is the reason why Baldr left a couple decades ago.

 The boy is untrained, his educators most likely skilled but not at the level of those found within the palace. In one great attack, Loki manages to disarm him, and his opponent surrenders. Trying very hard to contain his smile, he risks a glance towards his father.

 His breath hitches when he sees what the King is watching. Or rather who.

 Sif and Fandral are facing each other, and the girl is truly dominating the battle. The blond-haired boy is being pushed back further and further, managing a couple strikes but not nearly enough to change the tide. He also does not do too well with a broadsword.

 Soon enough, Sif manages to trip him backwards. Fandral falls, dropping his weapon. Above him Sif stands proud, panting and beaming. He mock pouts. “You are merciless, Sif.”

 “No more than you would be if you had my skills,” she replies cheekily.

 “You should not complain, Fandral Stigrson,” one of Tyr’s assistants cuts in, “not when you are still defeated by a mere girl.”

 Loki watches Sif, sees her face darken at the man’s comment. She is upset, obviously so.

 Let her be so. Loki gets told day after day to spend less time on his “frivolous tricks”, and more on weapons if he ever wishes to improve. He will not spend any sympathy on someone who has her skills.

 She doesn’t deserve it.

 “Very well done, young Lady.”

 All heads turn towards the All-Father, who has at some point stepped down from the stands into the arena. He looks appraisingly at Sif. “You are the daughter of Lord Jolfr, are you not?”

 Sif stares, awestruck, before she manages to stutter out. “Yes, my King.”

 “I have heard much about you. My son speaks very highly of your skills.”

 She looks at Thor, who despite looking somewhat embarrassed, smiles. “Sif is one of the most talented in our group, Father.”

 “Truly?” His father turns towards Tyr. “Would you say that is accurate, my general?”

 Tyr glances at the two. “It is true that the young Jolfrdottir shows more talent than expected, for a girl.”

 “More talent than expected….” Father trails off thoughtfully. “I admit I am curious.” Sif looks somewhere between proud and mortified from the attention, and Loki feels the urge to punch her. Doesn’t she realize how fortunate she is to have his father’s attention? Mother always claims that Father is extremely busy, this is the first time in months that he has taken some time off from his duties and –

 He is spending them on Sif.

 “Perhaps a demonstration?”

 It is not really a request, no one would deny the All-Father. Tyr nods, and calls out: “Jolfrdottir and Odinson, come forth.”

 He doesn’t even have to ask to know the general means Thor.

 _Well, they all know you are too weak to defeat her,_ the voice drawls.

 Loki clenches his fists.

 Thor and Sif get into position, each looking more determined than ever before. There are some differences between their expressions though. Where Thor looks eager and impatient, Sif’s face shows subtle signs of nervousness.

 Dueling in front of your King must be more nerve-wrecking than doing it in front of your Father.

 “Begin!” Tyr shouts. A second later, Thor goes charging towards Sif, and makes a move to swipe her across the chest. Sif doges it with little difficulty, but oddly enough does not retaliate. Rather, she spins around and places herself at a safe distance. Holding her sword steady in front of her, she waits.

 A few second later, Thor runs towards her again. This time however, he stops abruptly, crouches a little and makes a move for her knee guard. Sif doges again, more clumsily. She trips backwards, steadying herself at the last minute. Sweat already prickles her brow, the first time she shows any signs of tiring so soon in the joust.  Around him, Loki can hear the boys muttering. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Halnarrson smirk in satisfaction.

 It’s the nerves, he realizes. It is a foolish, common reason, but that is precisely what handicaps Sif so.

 He feels like laughing. The great Sif, so good with weapons and at fighting, is nervous in front of the All-Father! She is stumbling, fumbling through this and –

 She might lose.

 If this goes on as it is, Thor will eventually win against her. She’ll most likely feel humiliated, and it’ll be enough incentive for the fools that mocked her to start once more. This could prove disastrous for her.

 A rush of vicious glee surges through him.

 He wants her to loose, wants it so badly he holds his breath. He feels humiliated every time he leaves training, whereas she exits with glory. She mocks him for studying magic, most of them do, but she is good, so good at the sword and she has no right –

  _Your brother would best you, again._

That’s true, isn’t it? Thor would come out looking more golden than ever, having defeated the champion amongst them. Loki would look even paler in comparison. But right here and now, it feels like a small price to pay.

 He wants Sif brought low more than he wants Thor to not be as successful.

 If Sif suffers, even just a little bit, then it would be worth it.

  _How very vicious of you, my Loki,_ the voice croons. The words sound condemning, but the tone is nothing short of proud and affectionate.

 He closes his eyes and relishes on the feeling –

 And they shoot open when the crowd around him gasps.

 Somehow, Sif has turned the tide of the battle. She is drowning Thor under a wave of attacks, faster than any other opponent, her form much more precise than hers has ever been. Despite her smaller frame, she is pushing her brother back, back some more as he tries to protect himself.

 And then, when his sword is raised to high in a subconscious effort to protect his head, she jabs the tip of the broadsword into his abdomen.

 It is not the classical use for such a weapon, the side blades much more favored, but it is effective nonetheless. Thor doubles over, his breath cut short. In that moment, she places herself at his side so that the edge of the wooden sword rests against the back of his neck.

 It is a clear victory.

 The people around him murmur, some look thoroughly disappointed. Loki feels cheated.

 She had been losing…

 Father starts clapping. “Well done, Lady Jolfrdottir, well done!” He nods at Sif, who is beaming with pride, then turns towards Tyr. “It seems talent can be found in all genders, Lord Tyr.”

 The general nods stiffly. “Indeed.”

 The silence is oddly thick. Tyr congratulates Sif with as much good grace as usual, but the other trainers look much more displeased at the proceedings. The session is called to an end, the trainees leaving the arena as the King and Tyr talk awhile, but it doesn’t stop there. Many boys grumble, some even start whispering in Thor’s ear. Listening closely, he can tell they are trying to get him to scorn Sif over her victory. His brother merely frowns, and glares at the person nearest to him.

 Hogun is the one to cut the tension. “Impressive performance.” He nods towards Sif, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly, which corresponds beaming by his standards. She smiles at him, and Fandral jumps in to comment as well.

 “I am glad I wasn’t in your place Thor!” He exclaims, patting his brother on the back. “Although I will complement you: you can certainly take a beating!”

 His brother rolls his eyes. “Hilarious Fandral! You know it was not as bad as that!” He smirks; “Although, knowing how fierce Sif is, I am certain you couldn’t have lasted half as long. Has your bottom recovered yet?”

 “How about your neck?” The blond retorts instantly.

 “I didn’t hit him nearly as hard.” Sif snickers. “Your defeat was worse than his.”

  Fandral looks about to retort, but Hogun cuts in. “The victor should have final say, don’t you think?”

 “Aye!” Thor’s voice echoes loud and clear. “Keep that in mind when I defeat you, Sif!”

 “I’d like to see you try!”

 “Oh, just you wait!” He laughs. “It will happen one day!”

 “But not today!” She replies airily. She departs from the group, to her parent’s chambers. The stadium does not provide a shower room for women. “I shall see you later this afternoon, then?”

  “Of course!”

  The rest of the group go to wash, and as usual, Loki splits of from the bunch. Thor and his friends favor the large bathing pools the room provides, as most do. It gives them the opportunity to soak and swim, the water always remaining hot thanks to a simple spell. Loki, for his part, favors the showers that can be found along one of the walls. Small waterfalls, once again powered and heated by magic, that make for a much more dynamic and fast washing. Also, there are less people around him, less fools to suffer.

 Thor sits in the pool, talking with Fandral and Hogun, seemingly oblivious to the large gap between the trio and all the other trainees. He most likely is, Loki thinks bitterly. He probably doesn’t realize how his conversation with Sif dimmed the protesting whispers considerably. Oh, there are most likely still some that scorn Sif between themselves, but they will not speak of it as freely as they would have otherwise.

 Because Thor clearly showed his support for Sif, that he would be by her side. And people will act accordingly, because people like Thor and follow the prince, and if Thor is okay with it then people will have a harder time not to be so.

 Because Thor defended Sif. Without even realizing how much.

  _And isn’t that the worst of it?_ The voice’s comment is said in a compassionate yet biting manner, _that he would unthinkingly stand by that girl’s side, but do no such thing for you?_

 Biting his lips, Loki scrubs himself more vigorously, hating Thor a little and Sif a lot.

 Quickly enough, he is clean, wearing the fresh change of clothes left for him by a servant. He makes a move to leave when some boy calls out.

 “Off to learn broidery, Prince Loki? Or is it curtsy, your activities always leave me confused.”

 The room fills with laughter, far more than the jape warranted. He refuses to turn around, hearing behind him the sound of laughter, of mockery and of Thor’s silence.

 Why are they even bothering with him? He has stayed out of their way that is usually enough now not to attract their attention!

  _I imagine they are bitter about being bested by a girl,_ his friend explains, _and so they will diminish you to feel better about themselves._

 He grits his teeth. Again, his troubles can be traced back to Sif! Does she live to make him miserable?

 The jeering continues. Ignore them, he tells himself, Ignore them. Do not bait them, do not give them any leverage.

 He leaves the room the picture of composure. He breaks into a near-run as soon as he is far enough.

 He wants away, wishes to retreat and lick his wounds on his pride as best he is able. Perhaps he can go to his chambers, practice a spell or learn a new one. Perhaps he can just fall on the bed, and feel the warm embrace of his friend and a phantom hand caressing his hair. He could just bask in the voice’s warmth.

 Those plans sound immensely appealing. He almost completely loses focus on his surroundings as he imagines himself at such peace. He runs faster still, so much so that he doesn’t notice a small step along the stone path. His foot gets caught, and he falls back –

 Only to get caught by a pair of strong hands. He looks up, confused.

 “You run as the wind would, my son!” His Father grunts slightly as he sets him back up, and chuckles. “And are far taller and heavier than I last remember. Is this the boy that I could carry in the palm of my hands?”

 “Father!” he cries out once he has regained his sense. “I did not see you!”

 “That I had noticed. Tell me, what has my son so impatient that he nearly injures himself in his haste to get there?”

 He freezes. He does not wish for his father to know, does not want him to think him weak. _Weaker than he already does,_ the voice adds. Instead, he invents a quick little lie. “I was rushing to the library. I saw a book that held my interest, I wished to make sure none would claim it before me.”

 “It appears the hunt for knowledge is as dangerous a sport as any.” The king’s hand settles on his back. “Come then. I myself must go meet a Jarl hailing from the North. We shall walk the way together.”

 And so they do. The first minutes are spent in a silence Loki does not feel capable of breaking first. Fortunately, his father does it for him.

“I saw your performance today, my son” he comments.

 Loki feels dread settle itself in his stomach. He looks to the ground in shame. “Father, I…” he trails off, unsure of what he has thought to speak.

 He can feel his Father’s stare throughout the uncomfortable silence that has settled. “What do you mean to say, Loki?”

 He looks, filled with apprehension. What should he say? What does his Father wish to hear? What is he supposed to do?!

 “I… I know I do not excel in training…” Not like Thor, who went on to weapon training a whole six years before Loki did, who is already being praised as a model prince of the Aesir. “I know I did not perform as well as…as…”

 He looks away again, unable to finish. From the corner of his eye, he sees his father nod in understanding. “You feel shamed by this difference in ability?”

 Loki nods.

 The King hums thoughtfully. “The only shame would be to allow yourself to remain stagnant. So long as you seek to improve, then nothing is set. Do you understand, Loki?”

 “Yes, Father,” he whispers timidly.

  “Then I am not worried,” Odin finishes with a small smile. His gaze is warm as he looks upon his son. “I know from my observation and from word around me how persevering you can be.” He lays a hand on Loki’s head and ruffles his hair.

 Loki’s lips twitch in response, his heart swells at the sight. A part of him wants to beam at his father, wants to latch onto him, embrace and be embraced in return.  But another is wary. He had expected disappointment, shame even. He had thought his Father would advise him away from seidr, as so many others have.

 This… this is almost too good to be true.

 It cannot be, that second part of him screams. The voice agrees, and though Loki’s face betrays nothing, he can feel doubt rising inside him.

 He has to know, and so he speaks up. “But those other in the training ring – ”

 “I understand why you would compare yourself to them. That is perhaps, in part, why your lessons are not held individually. It is not meant to poison the youths against each other, but to allow bonds to be formed through the blade, as well as bring out a healthy competition.” Loki nods in understanding, feeling slightly appeased already.

“As in every competition, some will rise on top, but their situation is not permanent by any means.”  And there he feels himself calm down, because that right shows promise, and perhaps his father is not so disappointed in him after all.

“Perhaps also so that the more talented can serve as a model for the others. I think that young Lady Sif is a prime example of that.”

 What?

 “She shows great promise indeed. Not only because of her excellent form, but because she succeeded in overcoming her nervousness…”

 Father keeps on talking, but Loki cannot hear him over the roar inside his head.

 Sif. Again Sif. Not even here, and she ruins everything.

 Whatever goodwill his Father may have held towards him is lost, because now he is told once again to be more like Thor. Only it’s worse, because this time it is Sif, and he is bested by her when she should not have been competition in the first place.

 He hates her. He hates her so much. It is bad enough that Thor exceeds him in all the things that matter, but Sif… She isn’t a princess, she is just a girl who does not do as others expect, and, and...

 Thor likes her best.

 Father praises her wholeheartedly.

 It should be him. He should be the one to be held in such high regard.

 Sif took that from him.

 He hates her.

 “So do not worry, my son. I am certain that with some work, you will be able to reach such a level.”

 Loki feels like screaming.

 Instead he smiles. “Yes, Father.”

 The King smiles in return, and stops his steps when they come at a cross-road. “Our paths separate here, my boy. Please be careful the rest of the way. I am certain the book will still be there.”

 “Yes, Father. Thank you.” He does his best effort a cheer, and walks away.

 The rest of the evening is spent mulling in resentment and rage towards Sif.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 It is hot today, unbearably so.

 A heat wave has settled on Asgard for the past week, making everything and everyone run at a slower pace than usual. Duties are upheld, of course, Loki still meets with his tutors, Tyr still trains the youth, but classes are shorter, and no one reprimands the students who choose to doze off in some patch of shade. It is almost too hot to do anything else.

 Except for Loki, who needs to collect some plants for his potion, and will get them, hot weather be damned! Loath as he is to admit it, he has some difficulties mastering this subject. It has therefore become a point of pride for him to be as assiduous as possible, in order to make up for it in some way. The potion master may reprimand him for his lack of discipline when executing a brew, but never has he been accused of coming unprepared.

 So off he goes, dressed in the lightest garb he owns. In his pouch is his potion kit, as well as several gourds filled with water, spelled to remain ice-cold at all times. His mother had insisted he learn that spell, worrying immensely over his health in such suffocating heat.

 She did not worry so much about Thor, which infuriated him to no end. His brother was allowed to go on his merry way, whilst he had to endure a lecture on the importance of keeping cool, monitoring himself and please Loki, if you feel ill, tell someone immediately! So he nodded along, took all the water bottles she gave him, even though he is fine and –

 He blinks to correct his vision, groaning in frustration as he wipes his sweat-covered brow. He isn’t weak, isn’t fragile! He can handle a little heat!

  _You are sweating rather heavily, though._ The voice sounds oddly amused. _Perhaps you would fare better in a colder climate?_

 With a grunt of irritation, he marches forward.

 It’s a long walk. He goes through the halls and into the gardens, and once there he goes beyond the carefully crafted bushes that lay close to the palace in order to go towards the more wild section in the back.

 The heat puts him into a lull, so his motions are almost mechanical as he starts collecting the plants he needs. Sweat trickles down his brow, into his eyes. He wipes the sting away roughly. It is disgusting, his grip is slick around the handle of his knife and it all adds on to his poor mood.

 He has cut some clubmosses and saxifage, and is working on some Stitchworth now. Only halfway through, he realizes that it is Chickweed he is collecting instead. An idiotic mistake, and now he needs to start again.

  _They are rather dissimilar, if you ignore the color._ His friend’s voice is filled with concern. _Perhaps you should stop for now? The heat appears to be affecting you more direly than most._

He blows air through his teeth. He is fine, damn it all, fine! This is nothing, he can handle it! Gritting his teeth he perseveres.

 It is the work of half an hour, during which he drinks most of the water he brought with him. The bushes prove to be a mixed blessing: on one hand, they provide shade and protection from the worse of the sun, on the other the thick leaves trap the heat within the greenery, making Loki feel as if he were standing in an oven. He goes as fast as he is able in order to return to a cooler location, and in his haste he accidently brushes his hands against a small heap of thorns. He hisses.

 He perseveres, his mood darkening by the minute.

He is done now, mercifully, and so he packs everything up and stands. To quickly maybe, for a soon as he rises his vision sways and he has to catch himself to a tree in order to avoid falling over.

 Tears of frustration gather in his eyes. He feels so pathetic. He knows that no other is struggling so. Whatever minor inconvenience the heat may give them is easily overcome by a lazy day, some light clothing and resting in the shade.

 Why is it different for him?

  _Could it be you are just weaker?_

 No, that’s not it, he refuses to consider it. He won’t.

 It can’t be true.

 Once his balance is regained, he starts walking home.

 Out of the bushes, into the open field. The glare of the palace right in front of him is extremely harsh on his eyes, he looks away.

 He spots them then, sleeping under a large tree. Thor and Sif, looking peaceful and composed baring the light, very light sheen of sweat on their faces.

 They must have spent the afternoon together, he realizes. They are so often together, ever since they first played together, hunting the Jotun. And Loki is standing there, watching them, and he feels so foolish with his single bag and his pale skin, his sweaty brow and his slightly trembling limbs. Alone in the field.

 They are oblivious, Thor is always oblivious or ignoring him. Sif used to be alone, he remembers, but then she found Thor and Thor wanted to be in her company. If Thor ever wished to have his brother around, that desire left when he found a superior companion in Sif.

 Thor defends her, against others and Loki, and Father praises her in front of all, and doesn’t she realize how fortunate she is?

  _Doubtful._

She took everything away, everything that should have been his, and she is just sleeping there.

  _She does not concern herself with you._

Oh, he feels like he is burning!

 He wants Sif to burn to.

  _And why shouldn’t she?_

 Without realizing it, he has started walking towards them. Slow steps, the sun is so hot, and his eyes are riven on the sleeping girl.

 He wants her to be hurt, just a little, or maybe a lot. He doesn’t know, has nothing planned. His limbs are shacking and he stumbles a little, almost waking her up by stepping on her hair.

 Her long brown hair, tied in a tail behind her head. She loves her hair.

 He blinks, sweat trickles over his eyes, and before he realizes it, the knife from his potion pouch is in his hands.

 His grip is still slick from sweat.

 He could do it. Just snatch the long strand, slash through it, and it would be done. It would hurt her, he knows. She may even cry.

 He looks around, suddenly aware of how out in the open he is. This isn’t like his other deeds; where it is all planned in advance and little evidence can be found against him. Less and less as experience grows and his seidr assists him more and more.

 He would be caught in an instant.

 He’ll never have an opportunity like this again.

 Norns, it is hot.

 His hand ghosts over her hair, stilling a breath away from grabbing it. Would he…?

  _Back down if you are afraid, lovely._

He plunges, grips and slashes, distantly noting how easily wielding the knife come to him.

 Sif wakes up in a startle, stares at him in confusion before seeing the long brown cord in his hands. Hands flying to the back of her head, she screams.

 Thor wakes up, startled.

 Loki thinks he is screaming as well.

 Sif throws herself at him, tackling him to the ground. He doesn’t even try dodging, and falls straight on his back. From there he can see Sif’s face, blurred as it is through the sweat.

 She is yelling at him, maybe. Her face is red and angry, she is shacking him and Thor is speaking in the background, and in the distance he can hear people coming running under the too-hot sun.

 He just stares, half a grin on his face, drowned in a savage glee he doesn’t know the source of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh.... I totally have reasons for taking so long to update. Totally valid reasons that do not involve me cram studying for my finals because I have no foresight.  
> Yep, yep.
> 
> Anyway, a longer chapter than usual here! Hope you enjoy!


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, all mistakes are mine.

 Loki hears himself groan as he tries to shift. He must have fainted at some point he realizes, for he can feel a soft mattress underneath him when his last clear memory is of Sif’s face yelling at him.

 Sif…

 He tries to get up, to open his eyes, but all he succeeds in is exhausting himself even more, if it is at all possible. The weak effort appears to have been enough to drain him almost completely; it is all he can do to remain awake as he tries to determine where he is.

 He hears a voice speaking softly no too far from his bed. Feminine, familiar, but not his mother’s, much to his disappointment. He listens as closely as he can manage.

 “He is doing well, my King,” the woman – Eir, he recognizes her now – says. “We have given him all the care he needs. It is only a matter of rest.”

 “The heat did this, you say?” Father asks in return. Loki feels a hand caressing his forehead. He doesn’t have the strength to lean into the touch.

 “Yes, your Highness.” The head healer steps closer. “Prince Loki bears similar symptoms to scouts having returned in emergency from Muspelheim. The manifestations are impressive, but the treatment easily done. He will be fine.”

 The hand removes itself; Loki wants to whimper at the loss. “I do not question your expertise, Lady Eir. However, can my son’s condition be compared to that of Aesir soldiers?”

 “I understand your concern, my King. It is true that the prince’s… circumstances make him more vulnerable to heat. But he has always exhibited the expected reactions to my treatments on previous occasions, I do not see any reason it should be different now. Moreover, I have been particularly thorough in my examination, to ensure that no anomaly went unnoticed. I do not worry.”

 “I see…” A beat. “Could it account for his behavior just before he fainted?”

 The healer clears her throat, obviously uncomfortable. “I do not believe so, at least… not entirely. The boy must have spent two hours outside, at most. Enough for lightness of head, a slight confusion perhaps, but a complete loss of sense…” She pauses, contemplating several possibilities before continuing. “In truth, I do not believe his mind to have been severely affected. The heat may have influenced him…”

 “But only so far.” The king sighs. “Swayed judgement and uncharacteristic behavior are not similar. He would have acted the same in other circumstances, is what you are saying?”

 “I could not possibly speculate on theoretical situations,” Eir replies soberly. “But I do believe he was in good enough health that his actions were deliberate.”

 There is a long moment of silence, during which Loki struggles to remain awake. He can feel darkness weighing in on him more heavily than before, and when he hears his Father’s voice it sounds much more distant. “Your council is much valued, Lady Eir. All measures can wait until he awakens. But perhaps a spell, so that this does not repeat itself again?”

 “Of course, My King. There are a few, many of which the prince could apply by himself…”

 Loki hears no more as sleep claims him once again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 He dreams of cold that night.

 Cold is soothing, cold is a comfort, and it never comes from Asgard’s too mild winters. It is the iced-cream Bylgja brings on a hot day, the metal of his mother’s jewelry.

 Cold is not home, cold is a kingdom and its subjects. It is the bite of a snake, the caress of its soft scales and the sound of hiss that may be music but is poison instead.

 Cold is frost creeping over gold, treasures forged through cruelty. It is patience, patience and soon, All-Father, soon enough I shall rise as you crumble.

 He dreams of cold, and of revenge.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 His eyelids flutter as he struggles to wake up. Slowly, perceptions return to him. He can feel the soft sheets around him, smell the scent of flowers coming from the window, and hear Eir gently humming as she goes about her work.

 He can also feel his throat again, and Norns be merciful, he is parched. Water, he needs water!

 He moans, and almost immediately Eir comes rushing towards him. “My Prince! You are awake.”

 He ignores her, quite rudely. “Water…” he rasps.

 She disappears and comes back with a glass of water before he has time to protest.

 “Drink slowly, else you make yourself sick,” she warns as she hands it to him.

 Wincing, he complies with much difficulty. He is sorely tempted to simply toss his head back and pore the entire content down his throat, but he is not quite desperate enough to do so. All too soon, he runs out of liquid, and presents the glass with a sheepish smile. “May I have some more? Please?” His manners have returned, years of his mother and governesses’ insistence reasserting themselves.

 “In a few minutes, my Prince,” she responds calmly. “Your stomach needs some time to re-adjust. You have been sleeping for a couple days.” Still, she takes the glasses from his hands and gets up to fill it once again. “You were brought here in quite a state, we found it prudent to keep you asleep so as to make certain you were not more grievously injured than you appeared.”

 He pouts, just slightly. “I am extremely thirsty, though.”

 “And you will be able to, and in fact should, drink much water. It is only important that you pace yourself in the beginning.” She hands him the glass. “Try making this one last a little longer.”

 They sit in silence, Eir surveilling him as he sips his drink. The conversation he overheard haunts him though, even if he cannot remember it entirely.

 “Is Father going to punish me?” he whispers.

 He meets her eyes; her gaze is mostly neutral, but there is a softness in it that goes a long way to soothe him. “I cannot speak for my King. For now though, it is important that you mend your health.” She gets up. “I shall send the word that you are awake to your parents, if you will allow me to excuse myself.”

 He nods and watches her leave without a word.

 With a sigh, he falls back on the pillows, and lets his friend embrace him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He had been left alone for some time when he heard footsteps approaching. Two pairs, to be precise, both of them light and slightly muffled. Two skirts then, covering the feet. It hadn’t required much effort to deduce that Eir was coming back with his mother.

 Loki is not a coward. It bears repeating, he is not a coward, but on some occasions he will choose to avoid direct conflict, through any means possible. It is with that thought in mind that he had promptly turned himself on his side, back facing the door and closes his eyes.

 Feigning sleep is surprisingly hard, as he has learned over the years. Especially for him, who tosses and turns regularly. In his early days, Loki had a tendency to stay to rigid, or too motionless for his attempts to be convincing. However, years of sneaking out of his room to execute his various plans and rushing back when he almost got caught allowed him to polish his skills to an extremely high level. Thanks to that, when his mother stepped behind him and was watching him, he was able to keep up the charade despite the weight of her stare.

 Perhaps he convinced her, or perhaps she chose to let him be, but whichever the reason the confrontation he so dreaded had been avoided. At some point during his charade he truly fell asleep, lulled by the soft-spoken conversation between the two women. Because of that, he woke up in the middle of the night, and try as he might, he cannot go back to sleep.

 Damn.

 He is not sorry, though.

  _A masterful avoidance,_ the voice quips, highly amused. _Skillful, but simple enough that even your brother might properly appreciate it!_

“I do not care what he thinks,” he mumbles back.

  _No?_

“No! Why should I?” He grabs his pillow defensively. “He doesn’t care, I don’t care in return.”

  _Well, I suppose it is a good thing, what with the little feat you just demonstrated._

He groans at that. Of course, Thor would side with Sif, like he always does. He’ll probably be upset with him for a while, at least half as long as the girl herself. She can hold a grudge longer than anyone else, except perhaps Loki.

 But yes, his brother will probably be cold to him for a while, out of solidarity. Solidarity that should be to him, but never is because his brother prefers Sif. The thought makes him angry.

“What? What is so important about it? I cut Sif’s hair, it is of little consequence, it will grow back!”

  _Let’s not be modest, shall we? It was a fine act of revenge. Vicious and quick. Sif’s love for her hair is well known._

“She deserved it.”

  _We both know that,_ the voice agrees. _But what about the rest of them? They certainly will not agree._

“Then I’ll tell them!” he decides. It will be simple enough, and perhaps… perhaps it would help this entire situation. He doesn’t expect to get away without consequences – he has enough experience with discipline to know when to expect it. But if he speaks, if people understand… it would be nice -

 His train of thought is interrupted by a laugh. Cold and cruel, echoing in his head. It makes him cry out in confusion and hurt (and fear).

  _Tell them what?_ The voice is dripping with condescension, which would make Loki furious if he didn’t feel as paralyzed. _That you were jealous of Sif because of her prowess? That the attention she gathers makes you long for some of your own? That you were furious that your brother deemed her more worthy of his love than you?_ These questions do not call for answers, which is just as good since Loki is not even certain he would be able to provide any. _They will call you a snake, a hateful little boy who covets what is rightfully others._

“But it should be mine as well!” he cries out. Or tries to, but he feels a force restraining him, making him choke on the words that come out as a whimper. Gasping for breath, he flinches when the voice hisses at him to be quiet. Once he has regained his breath, he whispers with much more timidity. “I am a prince, and I deserve…”

 He chokes back a sob. (What do you deserve, Loki?)

  _But you do not have any of it,_ the voice whispers almost sadly. _Neither their recognition, not their approval. They will not give it to you, because you do not command it. Not like they do._ His head is cradled then, and he feels fingers combing through his head. In fact, he can feel pressure along his entire back, as if he were held close by a body. It is odd, having the sensation but not the physical matter to back it up. Odd, but pleasant; he lets himself be held. _They will never appreciate you like I do. How could they, when you favor deceit and seidr that favors underhandedness by essence? When you lie and cheat so well? Oh, I wouldn’t ask you to change,_ it adds when he moans in response, _I love you despite all that, because I am no Aesir and therefore capable of it. But you are what you are, and that is something none in Asgard can care for._

 The words cut deep, mainly because they ring of truth. He is keenly aware of the general opinion on seidr and their users. Why should it be any different for him? Being a prince doesn’t seem to have spared him any before. But surely there must be some exception? Mother, he is almost certain. Father perhaps, he said as much decades ago (although Loki never learned if he had been lying or not)…

  _And you would admit to neediness in addition to all that? You would tell them that your actions were out of desperation for approval? You would admit to being so weak?_

No, he cannot allow that. He has done so well distancing himself from them, avoiding interaction. He cannot give them leverage. Not after all these years.

 And what would Father think? (A disappointing son).

_They would laugh at you, despise you even more. And since you seem to value your brother’s opinion so, it would make your situation even more disastrous than it already is._

 That makes him pause. Disastrous, truly? He is aware that Thor is most likely upset, but once again, it is just hair.

  _Surely you must realize how you have diminished yourself in his eyes? Beyond what his solidarity to his friend dictates?_

What? But…

  _You snuck up on them. You cut off her hair instead of confronting her head on. You weaseled your way out of confrontation once the deed was done._

“I fainted!”

  _How convenient for you, wouldn’t you agree?_ The voice tuts gently.

 He shakes his head, but he cannot deny the doubt rising within him. “He was there. I did not fake it, Eir can testify…”

  _Oh, of course he’ll have neither proof nor certainty. However, how often have you tricked your way out of situations? How many lies have you told to escape punishment?_

 Countless, he knew. Lies of all kinds, tricks of every nature. Blaming the right person, using another’s ignorance in his favor. On one memorable occasion, he allowed himself to get caught stealing from the kitchen so as to have an alibi for when Freyja’s tapestry spontaneously burst into flames. (He was particularly proud of that one: all it had taken was to dip the threads in a purposefully botched warming potion, which had consequently become highly flammable, and let the friction of her fingers do the rest. Simple, but creative enough so that the insipid Lady’s entourage hadn’t thought of it, and had assumed a simple ignition spell).

 Loki had been a suspect all those times, but lack of evidence, and reasonable doubt allowed him to escape too severe a penance. But his parents had known of course, and he often got a lighter punishment out of it.

 Could Thor truly believe that Loki had planned his fainting spell, or worse still faked it? The idea did not seem too outlandish…

  _Especially not when you consider your reputation. My little liar…_ the voice trails off, full of affection. Its clinical tone returns shortly afterwards. _Your brother has no reason to believe otherwise. And now you have acted against every principle he holds sacred, and harmed one of the people he cherishes the most. Before he was merely indifferent, but now!_

 “He is going to hate me,” Loki whispers. He has no idea how he feels about that. He doesn’t care, or does not wish to care, or fears it, or –

 He feels a hand cupping his cheek, another trailing gently down his face. He closes his eyes at the reassurance his friend is projecting.

  _For a little while, yes._

Eyes flying open, he tries to recoil, but his head feels locked in place. _Not forever mind you. He will calm himself eventually, but I doubt he will ever trust you again. What you have done will not be forgotten anytime soon, not with Sif so furious and the second prince fainting shortly afterwards._

The voice is right, Loki knows it’s right. A part of him is savagely pleased: let them remember! It will show them that they should be wary, should not cross him. He will have that much. However, another part of him knows that he has just invited more scorn upon him. Too dishonorable, too mean-spirited; the voice said as much.

 He isn’t sorry for what he did to Sif. However, he isn’t certain he can fully accept the consequences.

 “Was I wrong? To cut her hair?” he whispers.

  _Wrong?_ The voice’s shock sounds genuine, if more than a little amused. _What sort of nonsense is that!_

“But… You said they’ll hate me. You said…”

  _I said I approved of it, didn’t I?_

The question catches him of guard. He answers hesitantly. “Yes...”

_Then how can it be wrong?_

“I…” His voice trails off. He doesn’t know what he had been planning on saying. He wants to agree with the voice, wants to believe he did the right thing, but is unsure of how to respond to it. His words fail him, and a sense of unease fills him.

 A pat on his head interrupts his attempt at reasoning through this. _You are tired Loki, it impairs your reasoning. You shall sleep now._

Loki answers with a yawn. Odd, until now he hadn’t realized how tired he is. But now his limbs feel heavy, his eyelids drop, and he has just enough time to feel a kiss on his forehead before he drifts into sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 He wakes up to his mother reading by his bedside.

 His first reaction is a bizarre cross between breathing out in relief and freezing in nervousness. It lasts merely a second, but she must have felt the sudden tension radiating from him, for she looks up from her book. “Loki,” she says, smiling, “how are you, dear-heart?”

  He blinks. He doesn’t know what he expected, but this is definitely not it. Where is the anger? “I’m fine, Mother.”

 “I am glad.” She bends to kiss his forehead. “You gave us all quite a scare.”

 Her smile seems slightly forced, does it not? She has always been very good a keeping a calm façade, perhaps this is another instance where that skill is put to use?

 “I was careful,” he mumbles. “I did as you always request.” No matter how ridiculous he still thinks he looks carrying all those water bottles.

 “I know, my darling, I know. It was a particularly hot day,” she reassures him. “Which leads me to ask: are you comfortable now? There is a jug of water and a glass near your bedside, but I may open the window if you wish. The worst of the heat spell has past, the breeze has returned.”

 He nods timidly, still waiting for the trap. “Please.”

 She gets up to as he bid, and the room is plunged in silence. The weight of it is suffocating. His mother may not have mentioned Sif yet, but he has no doubt she is thinking of that incident this very moment. It would be impossible not to. Looking back, he has a hard time believing he had done something so obvious and public.

 If he could do it all over again, his revenge would have been less of a spectacle.

 His mother speaks once more, speaking some idle chatter he honestly cannot bring himself to listen to. He hums in all the proper places, nodding along until the conversation dies down. She returns to her book, and he resumes trying to act unaffected. To distract himself he pores himself a glass of water, noticing as he does it a book next to the jug. His mother probably intended for them to read side by side, as they do in her garden.

 That’s suits him just fine. At least, it would have in any other circumstances. However, try as he might, he finds himself incapable of focusing on the words on the pages. Even the voice is oddly quiet, although he can feel it gently nudge his mind, as if to indicate its quiet support. It only makes him more anxious.

 He catches himself glancing repeatedly towards his mother, who seems as calm and pleasant as ever. But that could be a ruse, couldn’t it? Perhaps she is simply hiding her anger until… He doesn’t know, but surely she must be planning his sentence?

 Is she waiting for Father to join them?

 “How will you punish me?” he blurts out. It hadn’t been intentional, but he know it is coming, cannot evade it forever. He might as well get it over with now.

  She gives no reaction to his outburst other than calmly setting her book down. With a calm expression, she looks up and observes him. “Do you believe you deserve punishment?”

 He swallows. “Yes,” he answers, because that is the only proper answer to give, and he can recognize a trick question when he sees one.

 It is also a lie, and his mother can recognize that quite easily. She sighs. “Are you sorry for you actions at all?”

 And Loki cannot answer then, because he knows that if he does, he will have to tell the truth. And then, the disappointment he can feel creeping into her tone will come on in full force.

 He cannot bear the thought. Not his mother, not now. It would be such a foreign expression on her face, one he has no desire to discover.

 His silence condemns him in her eyes, he knows. But it is better than the alternative.

 His mother exhales, and shakes her head sadly. “You will apologize to the Lady Sif. Publically.”

 He nods, swallowing the bitterness that rises in her throat. Humiliating, yes, but again, not unexpected. He is old enough to be expected to make proper reparation for an insult.

“And from here on out you shall be on your best behavior. To ensure this, I expect you to never wander off on your own. When you are not with your tutors or your weapons instructor, you will be either in my company or someone else that has been previously assigned to you. Moreover, you will be respectful to whoever sits in your company, and you can expect to be made to discuss these last events with them.”

 “Mother!” he recoils. “I am no child, I do not –”

 “You are nearly one hundred and fifty years old, a child still by many accounts,” she admonishes. “But that is hardly the matter. Your actions that day are not tolerable, and if you wish for us to give you the same liberties you are used to, you need to show that you are responsible enough to be left to your own devices.”

 “Are you not too hasty in calling me irresponsible?” It takes all of his many years of practice schooling his face to keep his voice leveled. Raging at someone has never helped him before, against his mother least of all. “If you look at my deeds, all I did was cut some hair –”

 “It is no merely hair, Loki!” she all but snaps. “I hold your intelligence in high enough regard to expect you to realize that, kindly return the favor by not attempting to deceive me!” That makes him close his mouth shut.

 Visibly angered, although trying to reign it in, she goes on: “This is about intent, and this action is far more malicious than your tricks have ever been. This will have a much bigger impact on the girl than a temporary fright or inconvenience, which you very well know. And try as I might, I do not know what caused you to have an impulse so strong you would act upon it. The heat can only excuse so much!” she finishes, anticipating an excuse he had no intent on giving. He remembers his father’s talk with Eir after all.

 She exhales deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You will face the consequences of your actions, that much is undisputable. However, I still wish to understand what led you to this.” She looks at him then, gaze softer and more open than he could ever expect. “Why, Loki? Can you tell me?”

 This is his chance, he realizes. If anyone could possibly understand, it would be her. He’ll speak, and she’ll tell him everything he wants, everything he needs to hear. She will see, she will know and –

( _She will know. Pathetic, Needy, Petty and Jealous. She will know.)_

 He snaps his mouth shut, and swallows. His mother’s expression goes from grateful to guarded once more. She smiles, but there is a hint of sadness in her gaze. “Perhaps in due time, then.”

 He neither confirms nor denies.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 The next month has been almost as horrid as he expected.

 Almost, because loathe as he is to admit it, the constant surveillance is not nearly as intrusive as he expected, which almost makes matters worse, really. He had been anticipating the opportunity for a just complaint, however his “companions” have always remained just on the right side of tolerable. They are generally quiet, leaving him to do as he pleases as long as it is within their eyesight. A few of them have elected to step in when he was preparing a trick or two, but nothing too severe nor anything he particularly cared about. For the most part, his spare time was spent reading or working on a puzzle, snickering quietly whenever the voice made a comment about his current guard.

 The only excruciating matter was their need to talk about what warranted the punishment. Why did he do it? Was it because of Sif? Thor? Did someone else ask him to? Does he regret it?

 He had ignored their interrogation for weeks, before it became obvious that they would not stop until he gave them a satisfactory answer. Then, Loki did what he always does. He lied.

  _Half-truths,_ the voice had insisted. _Half-truths. Let them find nothing to contradict us._

It had been the first lesson his friend had taught him, all those years ago against Freyja. It still bore fruit.

 Sif had mocked him, he said, and it was almost true. She had at some point probably, and his unpopularity and ability to hold a grudge were notorious enough that it was believable.

 I was angry upon seeing her. (Truth). I was not thinking straight. (Lie.)

 No one made me. ( ~~Lie?~~ Truth.)

 The answers were not satisfactory by any means, but they were coherent and none to alarming. They accomplished their purpose, and Loki knew he would be free from his punishment in another month or two.

 So no, the surveillance had not been the worst part of the month. Apologizing to Sif had been.

 As per his mother’s orders, he had done it in public. In one of the open halls giving out on the garden, he had approached her as she was talking to his brother and their friends. Conversations nearby had died down as he made is way towards her, and promptly restarted once he glanced towards the guilty parties. Not because they were intimidated, of course, but out of embarrassment to be caught being so interested in the affairs of children still in their second century.  They had still been listening though, and he had known that. It had only added to the painfulness of the moment.

 Sif had accepted his apology with as much ill-grace as he had given it, fiddling with her still very short her the whole time through. She had glared as he spoke, had said the proper phrases through gritted teeth before turning her back on him without further ado. Behind her, Hogun had looked as stoic as ever, although he had nodded at her in support before the exchange. Fandral had looked more uncomfortable than anything else, though it had probably been due to Sif’s fuming anger rather than anything else. As for Thor…

 The mere thought of his brother makes his teeth grind and his heart clench. He has barely seen Thor during the entire month. Whilst he had still been in Eir’s care, he had once looked up from his book to see Thor lingering in the doorway. Before Loki had the chance to say anything, he had left. From that moment on, the two of them had barely exchanged words. His brother is coldly polite whenever they were in their parent’s presence, and avoids speaking to him whenever they were not.

 It galls Loki to no end. (It hurts him as well, but he will barely admit it to himself, much less to others.) However, he would rather throw himself of the Bifröst than admit it, so he hid himself behind the same mask of indifference he has been using all these years. As it is, he and Thor are now constantly ignoring each other.

 In the privacy of his room, he allows himself some small expressions of his displeasure

  _I am surprised that it bothers you so much,_ the voice comments. _I myself see no difference to when he was not voluntarily ignoring you._

The observation stings, as usual. However, he is angry at Thor, at Sif, at everyone, and is therefore incapable of reacting any differently to his friend’s comment.

 “Then you are not nearly as observant as I gave you credit for,” he snaps back.

 He gets no answer, but the mood of the room changes. Where before it had been light-hearted, if tainted with anger, there is now a tension Loki has seldom felt before. The hair on the back of his neck rises, a sure sign that the sensible thing to do would be to back down.

 But Loki has rarely been sensible. So when the voice speaks again, displeasure clear in its tone, he merely squares his shoulder and lifts his chin.

 _Your anger may be justified, my boy, but it is misplaced._ The words come out slowly and deliberately. _I have given you no cause for your wrath to be directed at me._

“I shall place my anger wherever I please!” His lips draw themselves in a cynical smile. “Or do you plan on imposing more restrictions on top of all the others?”

  _I have no intention to restrain you, ever, nor do I have any power on what others may make you suffer. However, I shall not stand this sort of abuse from you._

“Hard to stand without legs,” he quips. “Although it is easy to walk away. If my presence is so unpleasant to you, feel free to leave. You have done so before.”

  _And let you be in such a state? I think not._ His companion remains calm despite his provocations. It makes him feel strangely impotent; driving people to anger is something he excels at, and it has always given him so power over the situation. Here though, his efforts are useless. _I would never give up on you, no matter how hard you make it. I love you far too much for that._

 “How very kind of you,” he sneers. “I would have much preferred for my opinion to be taken into account, but then again, people seem to value it so little these days.”

  _Your opinion? What could possibly displease you about my offer? I –_

 “Yes, I am well aware, you promise trust and affection, and never to leave me!” His imitation is nothing short of mocking. “It is good that someone is satisfied with the lesser of the two princes!”

  _I know what others may think of you_ , _Loki,_ the voice replies calmly, _but do not project the views of Asgard onto me. You know that I value you as no other._

 “Why? How can you value me, when I give you nothing?” He questions, his bitterness making the words flow out before he even formulates them. It is not a trail of thought he had ever wished to entertain, but his anger makes him unable to stop. “People do not value what is useless. What use have I, then? What value do you find in me that made you wish to befriend a seventy year old?”

  _You hold it against me? You did not seem to mind then,_ the voice sneers. _A lonely child you were, before I came. I have offered my companionship freely, without anything in return? And I have been more constant than any other who may claim affection for you!_

 “Precisely! You never leave! Why don’t you?” he all but shouts. “You have constantly been by my side ever since we first met, but why would you? Surely you have been alone before, and have been just fine. Are you so desperate that you prefer my horrid presence to nothing at all? Or is it something else?” His voice rises and rises still bordering hysteria. He has no true idea of where he is going with this, but the words keep pouring out, and he has yet to receive a satisfying answer. “Why do you spend so much time and effort on me, what could I _possibly_ do that would make you so…”

  _Silence!_

 The roar of fury is so loud it makes him stumble, clutching his head.  Anger gives way to plain fear as the voice goes on, ice in its tone. _You will not say another word, boy._

It takes him a second to nod, so paralyzed he is by this sudden change. His friend had almost never gotten enraged like that. The only time he could think of was when Loki had abandoned it to go play, and it had to yell at him for it.

 What did he do wrong this time?

 Suddenly, a pressure he hadn’t even felt is lifted, and he can breathe much more fluidly than moments before. The relief he feels is limited, for he can still feel his friend’s presence looming over him, silent and observing.

 The wait is excruciating.

  _How… disappointing,_ it eventually says. Loki closes his eyes at the word.

 A long suffering sigh. _Why must you torment me so, Loki?_

He opens his mouth, then closes, unsure if this was an invitation to speak. “I don’t…”

  _Accusing me of an ulterior motive, after all this time,_ it goes on regretfully, ignoring him completely.

  _It saddens me, my boy. I thought I had earned your trust long ago, but it seems I have been mistaken._ Before Loki can even formulate a protest, the voice goes on. _Have I not been at you side for a century? Have I not supported you in your endeavors, consoled you as you cried? Are those not proofs of affection? I do not know what more you wish of me, nor when you will be satisfied. To put in so much effort for such little in return… Well, I am not certain I could bear it much longer._

As it goes on, guilt adds itself to his fear and confusion. He knows himself to be selfish, has never felt much remorse for it, but in this situation? He cannot deny what the voice is saying, cannot miss the hurt and betrayal laced within it now that his anger has been cut short. He already has so many people upset with him now, and they all avoid him as much as possible. If the voice were to do the same…

 He almost panics at the thought. What would he do? Who would he talk to? He spends his days with it, studies magic, talks with it, and it is the only person who encourages him in seidr. But what does he do? He knows he is the only one who can hear it, but what does it matter? It may very well decide not to bother with him anymore.

 Apologies are not in his nature. Admitting to being wrong less so.

 But if the voice were to leave, then he would be alone.

 That cannot happen.

 “I... I did not mean it in that way,” he starts. “I just…”

  _No, no, it is all very well,_ it brushes him off, but Loki thinks he might hear some lingering hurt in those words. _I suppose if you need more, than I shall endeavor to give it to you. I shall give you all that I have. Will you be satisfied then?_

“I…” he gulps, closes his eyes and tries to summon his confidence. “I can recognize the generosity of your offer, even if I do not understand what it entails. What do you mean to tell me?”

  _I shall tell you nothing._

Whatever confusion he feels at those words does not last long, for it soon continues. _My dear boy, my own, see how I love you,_ it whispers. _I shall not tell you, I will show you._

 “Show me what?” he croaks out. The answers he receives is infused with satisfaction and benevolence.

  _I will show you me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, on a first note, in case anyone is confused with how aging works in this fic, here is a link to my reasoning (the quick version: 1year human= 18 years Aesir, until they reach the equivalent of 20 years old) : 
> 
> http://courgette96.tumblr.com/post/102023047808/fanfic-stuff-aesir-age
> 
> So, Loki is 147 years old in this chapter, so he is about 8 and a half. Thor is around 10.
> 
> Again, any criticism is much appreciated (pacing and potential OOCness in particular, I worry about them constantly!). And to all those who take the time to comment, bookmark, leave kudos and just plain read this, thank you guys! I sincerely appreciate it all!


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anything else, special thanks to amethyst_uk! Your review was so incredibly helpful, making me reconsider and rework the rest of the fic. (For the better, I hope.)
> 
> No Beta, all mistakes are mine

 In the end, though, it had taken over a month before the voice had been able to do good on its promise. Having Loki under constant surveillance would have been a significant hindrance to whatever plan it had in mind, so they had to wait until his father’s punishment had been lifted. It hadn’t even taken that long, considering all the dramatics that went into it being effected in the first place.

 During the wait, Loki kept mulling over the voice’s words. The promise made years ago had been all but completely forgotten, but now that his friend trusts him enough the old curiosity comes back to the surface. What would it look like? He had never even been able to tell if the voice is a man or a woman. (He had guessed man once, for despite it sounding more whisper or echo-like than anything else it is of a rather lower pitch. His friend had sneered in response. _I am above such petty considerations, boy. Do not insult me by thinking me so limited._ ) He has nothing to base himself on, it had brushed off all his questions. Strictly speaking, he cannot even say that it is bipedal. It could be small and furry for all he knew.

 At that thought, his mind shifts towards Freyja’s ridiculously big cats. He snorts at his friend’s responding disgust.

  _I assure you, I am altogether very different from those hateful beings._

“Thank the Norns,” he replies, “for I would doubt any wisdom coming from you otherwise.”

  _Judging by appearances, are you?_

“Not at all. I have encountered Freyja’s cats many times. Their conversational skills are simply dreadful. You should not emulate them.”

  _So noted._

He hums in response. The banter does a good enough job distracting him as he waits for his friend’s signal. It had announced earlier that evening that they would act tonight, although it hadn’t specified when. So Loki sits on his bed with his back against the wall, trying very hard to keep his trepidation at bay.

 He does not wait for much longer. About ten minutes later, the voice speaks up. _It is time._ Nodding, Loki gets up. _Take the dissimulation potion. You will need it._

He complies, crouching down to pick up the small glass vial. He trails the cap thoughtfully. It is part of a set of seven, a gift from Sigyn for his one hundred and fortieth birthday. It had been a most thoughtful gift, chosen in response to a comment he had made in one of his letters. When her birthday came around, he had offered her five weaving bobbins he had charmed to wind themselves.

 “Where are we going?” he asks as he moves to pore some of the potion.

  _To the Vaults._

Loki’s hand freezes on top of the vial. “Father forbade Thor and me to go alone.”

  _He did, didn’t he,_ the voice inquires in mock casualty. _Well, since when have you ever followed the rules?_

“I just got out of months’ worth of punishment!” he protests. “I do not wish to harm my precarious position like that! I know better!”

  _Do you now?_ The voice hisses, low and angry. _You asked this of me, do not forget that. You asked for a demonstration of trust, for me to give more than you ever have offered in return. And you would spurn me as I comply? I think not._ It speaks slowly, deliberately, each word insisted upon. _You will do as you are told._

Loki gulps, and nods in agreement. “But,” he asks, voice much more timid than he would have liked, “what if I get caught?”

  _Do not get caught and you will never find out. Surely you can manage that much?_ The voice is derisive as it brushes him off. _I do not have time to tend to your insecurities, we must move._

Obeying, Loki pours some dissimulation potion on his hands. A generous portion considering the difficulties he had in making it, but necessary for him to apply it properly: writing Perthro on his forehead and the back of his hands, for secrecy, Algiz over his heart for success. The slight vibration that goes through his body indicates to him that the potion was successful, but he checks by looking in the mirror anyway.

 He is satisfied to find that his eyes cannot quite catch his reflection, even though he knows it’s there. It won’t be enough to go completely unnoticed, of course. Even now, his reflection becomes sharper and sharper as he looks at it. But Loki has a lot of experience sneaking around, and knows it will do the trick against unsuspecting guards.

  _Good,_ the voice says. _Now we leave. Do try to be discreet._

Bristling at the patronizing tone, but unwilling to speak up and risk his friend’s anger, Loki complies.

 The way down is largely uneventful as he avoids the patrolling guards and the few servants still up and about with practiced ease. He has a harder time finding his way once he enters the palace’s lower levels. He has never truly explored these parts: they are rather away from his usual haunts, namely the library, his room, and his mother’s garden. Moreover, the place was full of armor storage units, guard barracks and generally used only by the Einherjar; if he were to do mischief there, he would be noticed much too easily. Fortunately, the voice gives him clear indications.

_Take the second corridor on the right. We wish to go to the lowest of levels._

“It’s fortunate you know your way around these halls so well,” Loki comments.

  _I’ve been through here before,_ is the simple reply. He thinks he may have heard resentment within the tone, but it makes little sense so he discards the thought.

 He takes care in being especially quiet during the last five minutes, and soon enough he finds himself in front of the large golden doors that mark the entrance to the Vaults. The palace is darker here, a fortunate for him consequence of it being situated so deep. He looks behind him to verify the Einherjars’ positions: they are a fair distance behind him, their backs turned to him, looking straight ahead. Satisfied, he turns back to the thick door.

  _How typical of Asgard’s arrogance,_ the voice sneers, _not a spell on the door to keep it locked, nor a single guard inside the actual Vaults._

“It is not as if Asgard were under attack,” Loki whispers, “measures would be taken should the guards be alerted, I’m sure.”

  _And yet here we are, ready to break in,_ it mocks. _It is a good thing that such carelessness works in our favor._

He frowns. The matters are completely different, he thinks. Loki would never be an enemy to Asgard. It is, however, a pointless matter to discuss, so instead he asks the next obvious question: “How do we open the door without the guards noticing? The potion will only work so far.”

  _You can manage a simple silencing spell, can you not? It needn’t be powerful. I am sure the joints of Asgard’s palace are very well oiled,_ it deadpans.

 “Yes, but the door is heavier than I can manage,” he points out. He knows a full grown Aesir would have little problem with it, but he is young still. “I don’t know how to cast a strength-enhancing charm yet.”

  _That is no problem. I do,_ the voice cuts in, reassuring. _Cast the spell, and start pushing. I shall take care of the rest._

Again, Loki does as he is told. He waves his hand over the air, creating a layer of seidr that will absorb all sounds. There is no need checking its effectiveness, he knows he has mastered this casting for a long time. Stepping forward, he braces himself and leans against the door, palms forwards.

 As soon as his hands touch the smooth surface, a horrible feeling surges through him.

 Cold, he is so cold, and a hand is squeezing his heart. He wants to cry out, but cannot find his voice, his throat feels strangled by some invisible rope.

 The worst of it though cannot be associated to any body part. There is something going through him, he knows not what, but it is unpleasant and wrong. Highly intrusive, and the echo it leaves reminds him of slime left trailing behind a particularly repulsive bug. He feels vulnerable and dirty, and Norns, when does it end?!

 He chokes a little, eyes bulging, and stumbles into the Vaults. The door closes silently behind him, as he falls on his knees, panting. “What..” he gasps, “What was that?”

  _Just now?_ The question is full of confusion. _I told you, I took care of getting us in._

“No, no,” he protests. “It was… it was awful, what did you do?”

  _Come now, Loki,_ it placates, sounding so reasonable, _I simply cast a spell by using you as a corporal anchor. We couldn’t have succeeded without it. I did not predict_ you _would feel it as pain, and for that I apologize, but please understand it was necessary._

That _he_ would feel it as pain? “Does it not hurt otherwise? Is it just me?”

 The voice hesitates before replying, and that is answer enough. _It does not matter. I assure you though, it is completely harmless._

It did not feel harmless, not by any stretch of the imagination. However, his friend sounds so certain… Perhaps it is his own fault, some misperception? Or maybe he simply cannot tolerate pain as well as others. The thought summons back memories of Tyr, Sif and all those training session. He speaks up, if only to chase away those images from his mind. “It’s alright,” he mumbles. “It was not that bad.” That’s a lie, but he refuses to lose face. With luck, his friend won’t be surveilling his thoughts too closely tonight.

  _I am glad,_ it says gently, before changing the subject. _Go to the end of the corridor._

Having gotten over his… discomfort, Loki looks around the room. It is different from the rest of the palace, the large stone walls containing not a speck of gold. Still, the glow of the torches gives a hue reminiscent of the more traditional Aesir style. He walks forward, looking in wonder at the relics around him, from floating stone tablets to clear orbs.

 Only one he recognizes among those he came across so far: the Eternal Flame, the weapon of Surtur ofMuspelheim. The very notion that there before him stands this artifact of legend fills him with amazement, and he is sorely tempted to just stay and watch it burn. Tales of Surtur are nearly as popular as those of Frost Giants, bards singing about the strength of the All-Father, who defeated the greatest of foes and sealed away a never ending pyre.  Looking now at famed weapon, so full of seidr and heat he can feel it from the safe distance he keeps himself at, Loki wonders how he ever managed such a feat.

 Sometimes, he thinks his Father may be the most powerful being in the universe.

  _The All-Father has many surprising victories,_ the voice states coldly. _Come along, Loki._

 He hurries down the hallway, looking in confusion at the end of it. There is no one there. Of course, he recognizes the Casket of Ancient Winter, the trophy from the Jotunheim war. Behind it the grid where the Destroyer rests, he recognizes it from his tutor’s lessons. But there isn’t a single person in sight, or anything even resembling a body.

 He looks around, confused. He doesn’t know what he expected when he came down here, hadn’t known how his friend could possibly get into the most secure location on Asgard. He had resolved to wait and see, confident that the answer would be clear once he got there.

 It is obviously not the case.

 “I don’t understand,” he says carefully, still searching the room for any sign of life.

 A laugh echoes in his head, cold and bitter. _Of course you do not. How could you? How could_ anyone _?_

“What are you...?”

  _How could you even presume to? I am different from you, all of you, so limited in body and mind. And you would think to comprehend me, to put yourself at my level!_ There is a harshness in the voice, coming from barely contained frustration and rage. That startles Loki almost as much as the words do. He has heard his friend being angry, at him mostly, but in those situations it has never lost its composure. Now though… Now it sounds so much more wild and uncontrolled than he ever thought possible.

  _Here you stand, before me, and you see nothing of my true nature. None of them did, not those pitiful lumps of meat coated in gold, not even the great All-Father himself! And they call me trophy, a relic, a prize from their war when I am so much more than they will ever be! They should now!_ Its raving suddenly quiets, and it finishes in a deadly whisper. _And they shall._

 He is on dangerous grounds, Loki suddenly realizes. He needs to defuse the situation, quickly. He clears his throat in an effort to get his words out, and speaks carefully. “I don’t know what the cause of your anger is,” he starts, his mind racing trying to find the best way out, “and I don’t know what my father has to do with it. But you brought me here for something, so perhaps if you let me help…”

  _Let you help…_ it repeats, cutting him off. It has much calmed down, but has kept hold on its bitterness. _I do need your help, don’t I, Loki? I need you._

Again, he feels like he is missing something incredibly important, but he knows better than to ask for clarifications. “You know I would be happy to assist you, in any way you need.”

 He gets no reply for a long time, and he worries his words may have rekindled the anger. However, just before he opens his mouth to try to fix whatever mistake he made, his friend speaks up again.

  _Yes, I know._ Just like that, its mood changes completely, becoming satisfied and almost cheerful. _I haven’t forgotten. You are such a good boy for me, Loki. My Loki. You would do anything I ask, wouldn’t you?_

It is plain to see that there is only one acceptable answer. “Yes…” Loki flinches, berating himself for the hesitance all to plain in his voice. He had managed to sooth his friend’s rage, he cannot let it all be for naught. “Yes, I would,” he repeats, as convincingly as he knows how. “I trust you,” he adds for good measure.

 The voice tuts disapprovingly. _Come now, Loki, if that were true, you wouldn’t have asked this of me in the first place._ It sighs. _I do not understand why you would lie to me, of all people._

For what feels like the millionth time that night, Loki feels put on the spot. He does not wish to risk anything by contradicting the voice, but should he agree and confess to lying? Both options are equally bad, and he is so afraid of angering the voice once more. Fortunately though, it seems not to notice his internal struggle, or at least pretends so. _It is alright, though, for we both know you cannot deceive me,_ it says almost cheekily. _Well, I believe I have a request to fulfill!_

 He nods, still hesitant. He hates this entire situation, regrets so much doubting his friend in the first place, but he cannot back down now. “You said you’d show me… what you are. Where should I look?”

  _Just look in front of you, and you will see me._

 He can almost hear the grin in the voice, the anticipation. It reminds him of himself whenever he watches a victim fall for one of his tricks. It is better than rage, he supposes, but still makes him terribly unsure. Moreover, he still sees no body here, and he hates feeling so ignorant. “There is the Casket of Ancient Winter, but – ”

 He stops himself short, realization hitting him like one of Thor’s punches. Denial in the same moment, and the two battle within his mind. It all _fits,_ this revelation explains the rant earlier, the rage at being called a trophy, and didn’t it say once that it is trapped? On the other hand it makes no sense, because how can no one mention it, how is it possible that he has never even _heard_ of anything like this? How could no one have said anything?

 The voice – the Casket, he shakily corrects himself – continues to speak, as though oblivious to his war within his mind. (He does not believe it for a second.) _Yes, that is what they call me,_ it says smugly. _Fimbulvetr as well, for the more poetically inclined. I do not mind it, so I accepted it._

“But none may name you…” he whispers, remembering for the first time in years the first conversation they had together.

  _Precisely,_ it beams, as if Loki were a prime student. _You may refer to me as such, if you wish._

He doesn’t answer. He cannot, for he is too busy attempting to make sense of it all.

 I don’t understand, he wants to say, but those words have brought nothing good to him, so he stills his tongue. But they are true, in ways he is not certain he can express. He forces himself to move, circling the Casket as if a new angle would suddenly make everything normal again.

 The Casket is supposed to be a weapon, wielded by Laufey and claimed by his father at the end of the war. Something he only ever thought in passing, a testament to the All-Father’s victory. A trophy of a war passed.

 It hisses at that. _Careful boy! I am more, so much more than that, and I will not tolerate such thoughts from you._

“Is it wrong, though? What I have been told, about Laufey, the war?”  

 It takes a minute before answering. _The general facts are correct. I do indeed possess abilities, and the Jotun King made use of them during his conquest. When it failed, the All-Father brought me here._

“But Laufey knew, didn’t he?” Reasoning through this helps; one question at a time. “He must have, to use you as a weapon.”

  _He did not. All he knew were my powers, not the consciousness behind them. It was all he was concerned with, when he made use of me._

 “You almost froze over Midgard!” he exclaims, alarmed. The events of the war are much discussed by his various tutors, and their implications. Midgard is at the base of Yggdrasil, a vital component in keeping it stable. Had the Frost Giants ruined it, the loss of that balance could have brought many of the Nine Realms down, if not all of them. It was unthinkable for the All-Father not to intervene. Moreover, he had vowed to protect the beings of the Nine Realms, no matter how weak they are.

 Loki knows all this, and he is young still. It is impossible for the Casket not to have been aware of this. And yet it participated in the war.

 He is struggling with this news, unwilling to believe that his companion for over a century would be willing to cause such destruction. When it speaks up to quell his doubts, his relief is unmeasurable.

  _As I said, Laufey did not know of me, and I doubt he would have cared,_ it states with forced calmness. _My opinions or desires were not taken into consideration, you see._

“He forced you…” he whispers. The very thought of such helplessness pains him, especially when his truest friend has been victim of it.

  _I was, admittedly, surprised._ It sounds so pained, even though its words are mild. Loki is not one to naturally give comfort anyone though, and he knows that any offer would be rejected as a reminder of weakness, so he remains silent. _I hadn’t believe it to be possible. However, he is a creature of Ice, and his race has an inherent affinity for such seidr. Perhaps that explain his ability to bypass my desires, although I cannot know for certain. It would be difficult to verify, even if I weren’t in this cage._

 He mulls over that new information. He does not believe that his father would have put the Casket away knowing its innocence. He is a just king, after all. It is much more likely that he hadn’t known its true nature any more than Laufey did. And then his friend had been put here, unable to communicate with anyone, unable to explain himself. Loki shudders at the thought.

 However, it is different now. “You could have asked me to intercede, to talk to Father. I would have, you must know that!”

  _You were young, and had no evidence to support you. The same today. It would be a fruitless endeavor._

“But it’s not!” he protests, suddenly full of hope. “I am older now, enough that he may stop and listen. I could even offer for him to read my mind with Gungnir. That would show him I am being sincere, and he could help, he is so…”

  _You shall not!_

His enthusiasm is cut short, the air knocked out of his lungs by the force of the yell. Distantly, he wonders if being closer to the Casket has made it louder. It certainly feels that way.

 It is also highly possible that it has never yelled that way before.

  _Not a word, boy, do you understand?!_ Its screeches hurt, so much so that he grips his head and kneels over. _You will stay silent, you will not go to him. You will not breathe a word of this, or I shall see that you pay for it. Are we clear?!_

He gasps. “But…”

  _Are we clear, runt?!_

“Please!” he yells, tears prickling the corner of his eyes. The anger terrifies him, as it usually does. It is accompanied by that same sense of cold that fills him with dread (and doesn’t that cold make more sense now?). However, worse still is that he cannot for the life of him understand why it is so livid. He was merely trying to _help._ He wanted to save his friend, to do for him what he would have wanted to be done had he been in its place. It is not a gesture he would have done for most people he knows.

 So why is it so angry with him?

 “Please,” he hiccups again, and it’s with the greatest effort that manages to keep his tears from falling. “I meant no harm, why….what did I do wrong?”

 He is met by silence for what feels like hours, before finally the ice recedes and the weight on his chest is lifted. Still, he remains silent, no daring to talk. _You will not tell the All-Father anything. To do so would be the greatest of betrayals._

“I merely thought he would help,” he murmurs, taking great care in being as non-confrontational as possible in his phrasing.

  _Did you?_ Its mocking tone is back again, he closes his eyes and bears it. _I highly doubt it. He is a king after all, and a king must do all in his power to make his kingdom stronger. If he were to know about me, what might he do?_

“He is just, he would…” he trails off, berating himself from protesting. It is useless he knows, and sure enough, his friend is having none of it.

  _Look around you, foolish creature! Look at the treasures around you. Look at what the All-Father hoard!_ The words drip like venom. _The orb of Agamotto, the Tablet of Life and Time! The Infinity Gauntlet! Such precious items he gathers, all for his own use._

“He means to prevent Ragnarok! It is to keep them safe!”

  _By keeping them all in one place? Conveniently within reach? What a bizarre plan._

He snaps his mouth shut.

  _And supposing that were true,_ it continues, _what of it? If I am not a weapon, then I am a threat, for Odin has no claim to controlling me. And how ruthlessly the All-Father takes care of such threats. Jotunheim, cut off from the rest of Yggdrasil. Sutur, chained in the lowest pit he could find. I dare say, I do not enjoy my perspectives should he find out._

“But Father would not do such a thing without evidence!” he objects desperately.

_It is impossible to trust the king._

 “You’re wrong,” he blurts out unthinkingly. “Father is just.”

 He freezes when his words catch up with him. He closes his eyes in dread.

 Again, again, that cold biting silence is weighing down on him, and it is becoming painfully familiar. He has been causing it so much more frequently these days, summoning his friend’s anger time and time again, all culminating into tonight, were not ten minutes went by without him displeasing his friend .

 Loki is so tired, and weary, and he the last thing he wishes is to suffer under that vicious fury.

 It does not matter what he wants, though.

  _Wrong, am I?_ The Casket’s voice is restrained and calculating. Although it still stands on the pedestal before him, Loki cannot help but imagining it circling him, like a predator surveilling its prey. _Tell me, little creature, how can you be so certain? What do you possibly know about such things?_

He shudders. “He is my Father…”

  _Ah, I see._ A chuckle. _This is hardly about my future situation. This is about you –no, no, do not deny it – and your desperate need for your Father’s approval._

The change of subject is so sudden it catches him completely off guard. “What…”

  _I can understand,_ it continues, cutting him off. _I have always been there, after all, I have seen how he treats you. I know of your frustration. After all, no matter how much you try, you can never be as valued as your brother, or earn respect the way that Sif creature does._ He feels a hand cupping his cheek. _I do understand desperation._

Through his fear, he blinks away angry tears. What do they have to do with anything? They are not here, he has hardly seen them in over a month. Why would it bring them up again?!

  _Why? I shall tell you,_ it sneers, withdrawing the fathom sensation from his face. _It is because you are so keenly aware of your failings, so desperate for the approval of that man, that you would do anything to gain it. I am not fooled, you devious boy, I know very well the opportunity you see before you._

What?

  _You would lie to someone who has access to your mind? I did not think you so foolish._ Its voice drips with venom and bitterness. _How grand it would be, to come to the All-Father with knowledge none has ever brought to him before. To reveal the being dormant within his Vaults, to be the only one in all of Asgard capable of revealing it to him. What admiration, what pride!_

Loki listens in shock, wanting so desperately to deny those words. Except….

 Except the vision the Casket paints is so appealing, sounds so tangible, and he desires it so much he nearly aches. It would be akin to building upon his father’s legacy, continuing the legend by revealing an unknown aspect of his great trophy.

 It would be glorious.

  _Well here is your chance!_ His friend laughs, high and mad and just a little sobbingly. _You could go, run to your All-Father and tell him all about me. I could not stop you. You could tell him all, and surrender me to whatever fate your gamble would produce. A weapon, or an enemy to be destroyed, I do not know which is best.  A just reward for my trust in you,_ it bites out. _But what would it matter, you would earn your father’s pride, however long that might last._

No, no he cannot do that.

 No matter how appealing the thought might be, the Casket just made it so that he can never accept. He would be a betrayer, the most unworthy creature of all. Unless he claimed to have only recently discovered the voice…

 No, no that wouldn’t work. Father would never believe that the Casket revealed itself so spontaneously, he is too careful for that. Moreover, to convince him that Loki would be saying the truth would most likely require magical means, and his lie would not hold against them.

 So he would be branded a traitor, and even if the news were not to spread, Father would know and it would be enough. Thor would never do such a deed, and –

 And he has just caught his train of thought, and almost moans from shame.

 If there is one part of himself Loki is keenly aware of, it would be his failings in the eyes of Asgard. He is not warrior-like, he is not true or straightforward. He is selfish.

 It is true. Loki does not do kindnesses for others, has no desire to. Not even for Thor, whom he loves for all that he does not like. He is his brother. The only one he has ever shown such gentleness to is his Mother.

 He cannot claim the same for his friend, not when just moments before he was seriously considering betraying him. The only element stopping him being the result, not the action.

 This was all about trust, wasn’t it? And Loki had been about to spurn his friend. His only friend. Had the positions been inversed, Loki would have been livid, but most of all heartbroken. He thinks about Baldr, his secrets and the rage he felt at them being revealed. He never has talked to him since, not even when he left.

 The thought seizes him then, that his friend would leave him. Alone, again and forever. He brings his arms around himself, trying to calm the trembling that is wrecking his body. The same thought he had a month ago, and it fills him with just as much dread. More so, perhaps, because this time he knows he would deserve it without a doubt. That makes it all ache even more.

 Apologies are not in his nature. The idea of bringing such loneliness upon himself makes him want to grovel.

 “I’m sorry…I’m sorry,” he babbles in a near sob, holding it back only because he has no right to cry, “I won’t say anything, I promise. I’m sorry…”

  _Truly?_ The voice, which had stayed so silent after its rightfully bitter speech, speaks up again, in hesitant hope.

 “Yes, I promise, I won’t!” he says with all the conviction he can muster, willing it to believe him.

  _You keep my secret?_

“Yes!” he cries out desperately.

  _Oh Loki,_ it says with such tenderness and joy that Loki cannot help but close his eyes and bask at the implied forgiveness therein. _You shall protect me_ , _shan’t you?_

“I’ll protect you,” he vows in a whisper. “You can trust me, I swear. I’ll look after you.” And then, remembering a promise made inside a cupboard, he says, “We will always have each other.”

  _I am so glad,_ it says gently. He feels a hand cupping the back of his neck, squeezing slightly. _My Loki._ It squeezes more tightly, almost painfully, but he does not dare complain.

 He sits down a few feet away from the Casket, feeling so exhausted after all this. The vast room is silent save for his loud breathing. It is slightly uncomfortable, but he bears it until he feels calmer than before. It isn’t saying much: his nerves are frayed, he has been through many too many emotions in the span of thirty minutes.

 “How come you can only talk to me?” He offers the question with a small smile, as a peace offering between the two. His efforts to return to their easy friendship are successful, for the voice holds no more anger or resentment when it responds.

  _I admit I do not know. Feel free to relish in that fact, I know you want to._ The tone is teasing, so Loki allows himself to chuckle. _Perhaps we are simply made for each other._

“A pleasant thought, but sadly untrue. You do not glow quite green enough for my taste,” he jests in return. “Although I like blue well enough, I suppose.”

  _Then you should very much enjoy Jotunheim,_ it says in return. _Blue as far as the eye can see. That is, whenever there isn’t a blizzard._

“What is Jotunheim like” he asks in frank curiosity. “I know from the books, but what is it like to live in it?”

  _Cold,_ it deadpans, making him chuckle. _That is, for you it would be. I do not have the capacity to feel cold, although I do find the concept amusing. I’ve never heard a Jotun complain, though. Or an As, for that matter. You have resilient armor, at the very least._

“Disappointing,” Loki replies, the good humor still clear in his voice. “I’ve heard from warriors that you burn so cold upon touching that their armor fell off when transporting you.”

  _Warriors’ tale, most likely from those who have never even been close to me. And you believed them?_

 He shrugs. “You do not feel so cold from here, but perhaps I’m not close enough.”

  _Then come closer. I promise you, you will not burn._

He tilts his head, considering the offer. Then, with a smirk, he gets up and walks towards the pedestal. He feels less satisfied upon realizing that he will need to reach up to touch it. He grumbles, the reminder of his relatively small size for his age met with the usual displeasure.

 So he stands on his toes, bracing himself against the pedestal as he leans in.

 “Loki!” A resonating shout from behind him, startling him so much he instinctively recoils. Then the sound running of footsteps, black armored hands grabbing him around the torso and pulling him back. Before he has the time to blink, he finds himself at a distance from the Casket, clutched in his father’s arms.

 He looks up at his father’s face, and his mouth parts open from the shock.

 In all his years, few as they may be, he has always seen the All-Father as the picture of composure. Restrained in all his emotions, be it when he smiles upon someone or lectures his son on proper behavior. Loki had always wondered if it was years of kingship that had given him control over his emotions, or if it was just an inherent part of his character.

 He supposes he has his answer now.

 For the man before him is nothing like the collected monarch he is so used to seeing. Father’s one eye shines terribly bright, although Loki cannot tell from which emotion. There are too many shining through to count. The grip around his waste is firm, yet Loki can feel tremors shacking him slightly.

 His father is trembling.

 Loki had expected anger were he to be caught, for once again he is blatantly disrespecting his father’s rules. However, it isn’t anger he sees. It is so much more, even though Loki has for the most part done nothing but stand inside the Vaults.

 He tries to speak, but his shock seems to have frozen his voice. Only air comes out.

 Father doesn’t seem to have noticed, or if he has, he does not mention it. He speaks, and the trembling in his body echoes within his voice. “What were you doing, Loki?”

 Again, Loki wants to answer, truly. However, he does not understand his father’s reaction, has no idea how to deal with it. He looks wildly at the Casket, searching for answer, but none are forth coming. It still stands immobile on its pedestal, and his friend remains quiet.

 He looks back at his father, and gasps quietly. There is a tear at the corner of his eye, small yet there. Loki extends a hand, fingers hovering over his father’s cheek. He retracts them quickly when the king rumbles.

 “Why did you come, Loki?!”

 He made a promise, not two minutes ago he made a promise and it is one he must keep. He must lie, but his tongue is frozen still. He might me shaking as well.

 “Why did you come near the Casket? What were you trying to accomplish?” his father’s voice is growing louder, and if he would dare to say so, frantic. “Tell me!”

 But Loki cannot, for he is crying as well. The evening has been so long, he does not understand what is going on, he cannot answer those questions and worst of all, his father is crumbling before him, because of him, and he cannot fix this. So he buries his face in the king’s chest, clutches his fists, and weeps, shaking his head. “I’m sorry…”

 Father stiffens for a short instant, then growls. Loki starts to move back, certain he has offended him, but he is quickly pressed back against the cold armor by a strong arm. Putting his hand on the back of Loki’s head, his father clutches him close. “Why,” he says in a shacking and hoarse voice, “why must my son never speak to me? Why must I hear his words, and know only through his deeds of that which he does not tell? Your mind is a mystery to me, my boy, and though I have long accepted it as the inevitable differences between a man and his son, some days I…” he trails off.

 Loki waits a long time for him to continue, barely daring to breathe. His father merely stays quiet, and kisses the top of his forehead. It is so delicate and shocking Loki can only blink in response. Father starts walking back towards the gate. Loki leans against his chest quietly, the place where he has been kissed still glowing warm. The guards outside the Vaults open the door wide and stand to attention, awaiting orders or reprimand, but the king merely waves them to rest as he carries his son away.

 “The weapon Vault is filled with dangerous artifacts, Loki,” Father says quietly, stroking the back of Loki’s head. “I do not wish for you to harm yourself. Please promise me you will not go there unattended.”

 Loki nods, and places his chin over the armored elbow. As the large gates leading to the Vault close behind them, he can still see the Casket, quiet and dimly glowing blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so.... hope you guys aren't disappointed by this
> 
> Bit of headcanon: Odin knew where Loki was because some nights, when he finishes by looking over the Realms from Hlidskjalf, he will take a second to check on his sons, and make sure they are safe. (He has also caught them both out of bed as a result. Most of the time, he says nothing.)
> 
> Actually, there are so many things I want to say about Odin, or whatever goes around that Loki doesn't witness. I won't flood the AN with them, but feel free to ask if you're interested. :)


	14. Interlude: As Loki sleeps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:Heed the tags above. On top of violent thoughts, this is where things start getting super creepy and inappropriate. No sex-scene, but it is still non-con touching on a minor!
> 
> EDIT: I do have a beta! The lovely amethyst_uk has offered to help me out with this! This chapter has been revised with her suggestions! Moreover, she is now a staunch defender of proper spelling against my onslaught of typos and other mistakes!

The All-Father is staring again. This is becoming tedious. For the past eighty years he has been coming every other day, only to stand before the Casket in thoughtful contemplation.

 The first time this had  happened, the  Fimbulvetr had simply waited  quietly until the King left . By the twentieth time, It had started cursing Odin and his power, in a completely impotent display of anger. By the fiftieth visit, The Casket had taken toaddressing  the All-Father, a completely one-sided conversation, but fulfilling none the less.

Do you ever get tired of coming to me, noble Lord?  Eighty years is a long time to do nothing but stare. Time has made its mark on you, greying your hair and wrinkling your face. Your oldest son has grown now, is closer to being a man than a boy . Your youngest, well... He remains mine , as he has always been.

 You should not spend your hours here, All-Father, you are running out of time. 

 Loki is running out of time.

 These are satisfying taunts, to be sure, but sadly not nearly as accurate as the Casket wishes they were. Its situation is more dire than ever. The King's regular visits a testament to just how close It had been to being discovered.

More infuriating still is the knowledge that it could have been avoided, if only It had been more cautious. But the boy had been rebelling, asking questions It had no desire to answer and turning the tables on him had seemed like a good play.

 Revealing Itself to the runt had been… reckless. It would have been better to leave matters as they were after the boy had cut that girl’s hair. Alas, the prospects had been too enticing. Besides, making this revelation on Its own terms  ensured that Its true nature would not send the boy running towards his father. (Or not-father, as it was . The knowledge is delicious, but would do more harm than good were It to disclose it to the toy.) By binding the two of them with a secret and making the boy swear protection, Loki would belong to It even more than he had ever before.

 You have taught your son well, Odin. The boy has a duty towards me now, and you have well educated him in the importance of such vows. I should thank you, really, for pushing him to be mine.

Again though, the Casket is gloating with half-truths. Although that part of the plan had gone entirely as expected, It hadn’t anticipated the All-Father intervening. And thus, Its greatest move became Its greatest mistake.

 Odin is looking still, his one eye mostly neutral as he surveys his trophy, his fingers taping against his spear. The sight never fails to  put the Casket on edge.

Do you know how close you are, the  Fimbulvetr cannot help but wonder. Are you even aware of the power you hold? One use of  Gungnir , one push of your seidr  into  my container and you would find me, if you knew to look for me. Have you thought of doing so, and discarded the gesture as a useless act based on an outlandish idea? Have I deceived you so well? 

 They call you wise,  Odin-King, but I know you to be nothing more than an arrogant, blind fool.

 It is fortunate that the King does not suspect Its true nature.  The  Casket has hidden Itself well overthe course of Its existence, skilled dissimulation on Its part and lack of imagination on his enemies' working hand in hand to keep It safe. Moreover, It has ensured that the boy remain tight-lipped on the subject. (Loki had explained his presence in the Vaults as a test of courage to prove himself. Not the most convincing of lies, but just enough to satisfy most.) Still, Its position is precarious at best, the As blood within the All-Father’s veins the only reason for Its continued protection.

 That heritage stands as a buffer between the two. The Casket cannot reach within Odin’s mind and set  Its  hooks, the same as Odin cannot simply listen to discover It, although he would have an easier time discovering the truth were he to truly try. The Fimbulvetr  supposes that if It desired, It could make Itself heard by the King, but that would be plain suicide. Best to encourage him to ignore It completely.

Which is whythe entire debacle in the Vaults had been so upsetting.

 Ever since that night, Itstoy has been under much heavier scrutiny than before. Although Loki is still free to act on his own free will, he is no longer indulged in his behavior. The All-Mother does not hide her worried glances anymore  and frequently references the boy’s loneliness, which wouldn’t be much of a problem if Loki wasn’t so invested in pleasing her in return. 

The King remains silent, but his watchful gaze sets on the boy more often than not. Even the brother seeks him out every so often, although it is unclear whether it is from his own volition or on his mother’s insistence. Nevertheless, it is a nuisance to deal with.

On top of everything, the Vanir girl is to come to Asgard in a few months’ time and although Loki tries to act indifferent, there is no denying the underlying current of excitement whenever he thinks of her arrival.

 What to do then? The runt’s isolation had served It well, had allowed It to mold him as It saw fit, without any unwanted interference. Now though, such solitude draws attention, and the more it is pointed out by Loki’s family, the more the boy starts feeling its weight, however subconsciously. On the other hand, It cannot simply let the boy go, for that might bring years of effort to waste.

 An alternative must be found then, a proper balance. A way to control even as others may influence him…

 Unfortunately, It has much difficulty planning Its future actions, for Odin still stands before him, and hate burns so strong within It.

 How can a being such as It be brought so low by one man? An empire of Ice and Minds, destroyed by an ignorant fool, who for some reason cared about the fate of  Midgardians! Weak and pathetic creatures, those he had once protected all long dead now! Why defend such lives when they are so inconsequential?

 It matters not. The All-Father had chosen to intervene, and  Its  thralls have proven to be unworthy. And now Odin comes in Its cell, and watches with neither reverence nor recognition, and all It can do is cower and pray to remain unseen. Hiding, when It should be ruling and wrecking vengeance on all those who have torn Its kingdom down.

 The Fimbulvetr does not dream, per say, but on occasions It will lets Its mind wander towards happier thoughts. 

 Such plans I have for you, All-Father! Do you care to know them?

 The entire palace is invaded by ice, its inhabitants either dead or dying of starvation and cold. I am fair and just, mighty King: all you people have an equal part in my plans. The warriors who destroyed my armies, the guards who presume to keep me under watch, your son, your wife, and of course, for last, you .

I would make your death slow, and painful. I would have you die among the ruins of your kingdom, the corpses of you family surrounding you as you bleed out . Loki would have been the one to do the deed, of course. I will have him tear down his once-home brick by brick, making his way towards you.  Your own son coming to destroy you, would you kill him to save yourself?

 Perhaps you would, but that doesn't matter. The boy can be powerful enough that you could do nothing to stop him, and I will see to that.

 Shall I let you die in ignorance, the Casket thinks for a second, before another idea comes that fills It with dark pleasure. 

 Oh, no,  no, I  will reveal  myself to you , at the end  of all. I will let you see the truth as your son stands above your dying self, and  in  your final moments, All-Father, you will know how deeply youhave failed.  

These are nothing but fantasies, the  Fimbulvetrknows, but so enjoyable and so tantalizingly possible. The runt It has acquired shows such promise. His affinity for  seidr craft  is remarkable, and his mind is sharp, very sharp. The Casket knows that had It not made Itself present so soon in the child’s life,  Loki would have been much harder to control. Even as it is,  It knows better than to let Its guard down. (“Why do you spend so much effort on me?” Loki had asked once, a query that could have brought down years of work had he pushed that line of reasoning. It had managed to distract him through anger and manipulation, but that had been t o o close a call for comfort. )

 These abilities make Its work difficult, but It is rewarded by the knowledge that the boy belongs to It in a way Odin shall never be able to fight, even if he knew to do so. It has been over a century since It has begun Its work, It knows that It has marked Loki so deeply he will never be free from It. Odin may call him his son, but he will never be close to Loki like the  Fimbulvetr  is, know him like It does, feel him as It does.

 And suddenly, an idea occurs to It. Dark pleasure surges through Its being, stronger than before, and It contemplates the All-Father with a new found glee.

 You will fail, Odin Twice- Blind, you already have! You have taken all from me, so I shall steal what you hold most precious in return, as thoroughly as I know how.

 With that thought, It shifts Its focus to the boy sleeping in his room.

 The Casket has no eyes to see with, nor hand to feel with, but that does not matter. It inhabits Loki, and therefore is aware of all that is around him and all that he feels. From there  Its  wishes shape a new reality. All  It  must do is desire that the boy feels a touch, and thus It is touching him. The absence of physical limbs are irrelevant in the affairs of the mind.

 Slowly It brushes the boy’s skin, sensation trailing over the collarbone. Smooth and pale skin contrast with jet black hair, It notes casually. Appealing to the eye, It supposes, but more importantly so different from typical Aesir skin. This pleases It: does it now show that Loki was made for It?

 It continues trailing downward, stopping to contemplate his chest.

 I can feel his heart, Odin. I could stop it, if I so wished, for It is mine to do as I please.

 From the chest bone It moves to the side, brushing the area over first ribs, resting inches away from the nipple.

 I could brush over this, All-Father. Would such touch wake your son up, or would he merely squirm? Don’t you wish to know?

 Don’t you wish to stop me?

 But Odin is still down in the Vaults, still contemplating It thoughtfully, but this is no longer as insulting as it had been moments before. For whilst the King is down there,  It is here, with his son, and It is not stopped.

 It is almost dizzy with glee and the sense of power. It traces along the stomach, feeling the slight contour of each muscle. Such a thin frame, such a fragile looking thing, It hungers for more.

 Why don’t you protect your son, oh Mighty King? He is so vulnerable, so helpless in my grasp, and you do nothing. I know of your laws of your Realm, I know of your vows to protect and combat perversion. But this is happening under your roof, and it will continue to happen for many more nights. I promise.

 Loki shifts slightly, curling up in the bed. His sleeping gown rises up to his mid-thigh, exposing his pale legs. Again, It finds them pleasing to watch, and suddenly It thinks of Its toy gasping for breath on its knees, overwhelmed by confusion and fear, alone at Its mercy. Tears in his eyes, voice trembling, eager to placate  Its  rage and oh, how that thought delights It!

 Distantly, It wonders if this is what breathlessness feels like.

 Down in the Vaults, the All-Father turns away, apparently done for this evening. The Casket retreats (nearly reluctantly) to watch him go, feeling deeply satisfied for the first time in years.

 Odin may not be aware of it, but he has lost tremendously just now, and will do so for many more years to come. The  Fimbulvetr  will never stop, could not even if  It  tried to. This is too delicious for words.

 And useful as well, It realizes, so very useful against pets in risk of straying. The thought nearly makes It purr.

 This will be a most fruitful endeavor, It knows.

 There is more than one way to own, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah... I meant what I said in the tags... The Casket is creepy, perverted and thinks way to highly of Itself.
> 
> This chapter is short and dark, and serves as an introduction to a time skip. Loki would be about twelve or thirteen now (and yes, this happened...). I have exams a week and a half from now, so I won't be writing at all during that time. This may not influence the time it will take to release the next chapter, but it most likely will make things longer.
> 
> On another note, I have two tumblrs, courgette96.tumblr.com , which is not very active, and ifellinthefandom.tumblr.com , much more active.  
> In both cases, if I were to post about my fics, WIP, future projects or if you just wanted to ask or talk about my fics there, would there be any interest?


	15. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a beta! The lovely amethyst_uk is helping me with this now! Three cheers for her! (As well as my eternal gratitude).
> 
> Also, since the time skip, Loki would be 13-ish and Thor 15-ish, although they are both closer to 14 and 16 respectively.
> 
> Warning: Swearing.

“Damn,” Loki mumbles as the dagger in front of him turns to ash.

  _Too much hippogriff claw?_

“Maybe,” he mumbles. “Or perhaps the runes are not properly organized.” He reaches over the now pointless ritual circle he traced on the floor to reach for the pages upon which he wrote his calculations. If all had gone according to plan, the weapon in front of him should have become much sharper and more solid than before. Loki intended for it to be able to cut through anything.

 Obviously, something had gone very wrong.

  _You have been working on this for the past two months,_ the Casket comments. _I would have thought that you would be getting results by now._  


Loki grits his teeth as he tries to fight down embarrassment. “Things do not always go smoothly when devising rituals from nothing.”

  _If you say so._

To distract himself from the feeling of incompetence creeping in, he puts his notes back in order and places them on the desk. “We’ll have to continue this another time,” he states as he tidies his workspace. “Mother and Father are expecting me. Besides, I will need to harvest some more mistletoe before I can do anything else.”

  _Off to visit the King and Queen,_ the voice drawls as he exits the room, _how fun._

Loki rolls his eyes, but doesn’t disagree. “Yes, well, with luck it will be brief.” With that, he starts walking through the halls.

 He is no stranger to his father’s study, having been there countless of times over the years. It is one of the only places that convey both privacy and authority, and as such Loki has been yelled at more than once in that room.

 This time around though, both he and his brother have been asked to meet their parents there. Although that isn’t unheard of, it is still irregular enough that Loki cannot help but feel a little dread on the way.

 Which is why he takes a moment to steel himself in front of the door.

  _And you wonder why they call you a coward,_ the Casket chuckles.

 Tensing up, he opens the door. A small surge of relief washes through him when he realizes that the Queen is the only one in the room.

 “Loki,” his mother says with a smile, “you are perfectly punctual, as usual.”

 “I only make it a habit with you, Mother,” he replies stepping in, “for I would so hate to miss even one second of your time.”

 She chuckles. “It is time well spent when in the company of my son.” Taking him by the arm, she guides him towards the sitting area of the King’s study. “Your father shall be here any second now. The council meeting ran a little longer than expected, I am afraid.”

 “Trouble in Vanaheim again? Or is it Nidavellir? I can never keep that straight, they both so enjoy fighting among themselves.”

 “For reasons I know you are aware of,” she chides him gently. “One Realm divided amongst many earldoms or clans, there are bound to be rivalries between the groups, even with a monarch to unite them.”

 “It still seems strange to me,” he says in fake wonderment. “I still believe that a Vanir who is willing to make Queen Sigrúð’s rule more difficult is a Vanir who has not met her. She is a terrifying woman.”

 “Well, it was unfortunate that the trick you sought to play on your brother ended up targeting her,” she laughs. “Although I dare say she was more impressed with your display of magic than anything else. Less enthralled by your poor planning though.”

 He nearly winces at that. The Casket hadn’t been too impressed either. _Your standing in Asgard is poor enough as it is, but must you also antagonize the Queen of Vanaheim as well? At this rate I will soon be the only one in all the realms not to distrust you._ “In my defense, having never seen her before, I couldn’t have known she would be small enough to fit into Thor’s usual chair. I thought a new one would be brought out for her convenience.” But that hadn’t happened, and all he could do is blanch in horror as the honored guest’s seat kept jerking her away whenever she reached for food.

 “Which you kindly informed her of once you were brought before her to apologize.” She shakes her head with a long-suffering smile. “You call her terrifying, but I think you are aware that you endeared yourself in her eyes that day. She was very much entertained, as were many other Vanir.”

 She keeps her tone light, but Loki’s smile stiffens none the less. He would bet his daggers that he knows where she is going with this, and it is not a subject he wishes to discuss.

 Fortunately, at that moment the door opens. Loki sends a silent thanks to the Norns for their timing as he stands to greet his father and brother, who have just entered.

 “There is no need for such formalities, my son,” Odin states as he sets Gungnir against the wall. “This is hardly an official gathering, there is no need for me to interrupt.”

 “I thought you would like to see that the etiquette classes you organized were most successful, that you may have at least one good news today.”

 His father raises an eyebrow, although not without a hint of amusement, but before he can answer his mother steps in. “We were merely reminiscing about that incident with Queen Sigrúð. I was about to comment on how delighted the young Sigyn seemed to be at the spectacle, although she tried to hide it.”

 If Loki did not love his mother so, he would most certainly curse her.

 Of course, he should have known better than to think she would not bring her up again. He knows she had high hopes when the Vanir first arrived in Asgard; her frankly unwelcome interest in his social life had clued him in rather early. His mother is disappointed at the state of their relationship, and does little effort to hide it.

 He breathes in and out slowly, willing himself not to keep his composure despite his increase weariness at the subject being brought up. He has given her no cause for complaints: he has been perfectly polite when accompanying Sigyn through the castle on her first day, and has never been anything less than cordial whenever she speaks to him.

 It is a cordial relationship, and one he has no desire of changing. It had been one thing when they still lived realms away, and could only exchange letters to communicate. Having her here in Asgard changes everything.

 The Casket gets worried whenever It thinks Loki might wander away from It. And after everything that has happened, It really doesn’t want him to get hurt by others. Moreover, Loki knows that It is afraid that he will abandon It. It is understandable: Loki has the possibility to talk to other people, the Casket only has Loki. It truly depends on him for companionship, and the idea of leaving It to rot fills Loki with guilt.

 Beyond that, the Casket has been a true and loyal friend to him, so Loki owes it to the Casket to be loyal in return. It doesn’t like seeing Loki getting too close to others, so Loki does not wish to be better friends with Sigyn.

 No matter how much he enjoys their talks, or her humor.

 “The two of you already had ties before she came to our Realm,” says Odin. “I had expected you to be closer by now.”

 Loki feels his haws clenching. He isn’t in the habit of doing what his father expects him to, doesn’t everyone know by now? The All-Father had been less than subtle about it in his constant interventions about Loki’s daily life.

 Suggesting he should train with Thor more often, because of course he thinks him weak. Asking him to spend less time studying alone, no doubt because it is unseemly for a son of Odin to pursue _seidr_ the way Loki does. Everything would be much simpler if he would just hurl beams of brute energy towards his enemies, so much flashier and impressive looking than his illusions and subtle crafting, but that style of magic does not suite Loki at all.

 Sometimes he believes the only two who have any appreciation for finer workings are his mother and the Casket.

  _Dangerous thoughts, Loki dear,_ It purrs. _The All-Father would certainly not appreciate that._

 Well, he thinks rebelliously, he never needs to know now, does he?

 It chuckles. _Too true, my love, too true._

“Have I been summoned to talk about Sigyn?” His tone is more clipped than it should be were he completely respectful, but neither of his parents call him out on that. “It doesn’t seem the sort of subject Thor would be interested in. Or concerned by.”

 There. With hope, they will drop the subject.

 Unfortunately for him, Thor seems to be in a mischievous mood today. “It is very kind of you to say so, brother, but I do not mind.” He says this with a smirk and a knowing glint in his eyes, both of which are completely out of place on his face and only serve to make Loki’s ire grow.

 Taking pity on him, or perhaps reading the promise of a most gruesome murder in Loki’s eyes, Thor continues. “But I agree with you on your underlying point.” He turns towards their parents. “I doubt we would have been brought to Father’s study for such a matter. I am curious as to why we are here.”

 Their mother frowns for a brief second, before her face recomposes itself in the usual smile she wears when addressing her son. “The two of you are right, of course. But perhaps we should sit down before continuing?”

 “Really, Mother?”  Loki’s relief at the lack of further questions has lightened his mood considerably. “Is the news really as dire as that?”

 “Feel free to remain standing, if you wish,” she shoots back. “I merely see no reason why this conversation cannot be held in more comfort.”

 They sit down then, Loki and Thor on the same side, their parents in front of them. Thor sits ramrod straight, his chest slightly puffed, whilst Loki himself slinks back in the chair, taking full advantage of the pillows behind him.

 “As you are well aware, your standing as Princes of this Realm give you many duties along with your privileges.” Their father speaks in the same controlled and detached tone he uses whenever lecturing his sons over such subjects. Loki would easily wager he could do a perfect imitation of it. “The two of you have received many lessons to prepare you for your tasks. I believe it is high time you should put them in effect.”

 “Nothing sensitive, we assure you!” Mother takes over, pre-emptively soothing what worries they may have. “Something simple, but still required for the function of the court. Jarl Sveid Fenrirson’s daughter has recently given birth to a son. He has invited the royal family to attend the celebratory feast in three months’ time.”

 Thor beams. “It is joyous news indeed! Are we then to depart as a family?”

 Of course the prospect of a feast is enough to get his brother in high spirits, Loki thinks cynically. Worse still, it is entirely likely that Thor is genuinely pleased to hear of the good fortune that has graced a man he has barely heard of. He really is a good natured fool.

  _Terrible quality in a Prince,_ the Casket comments. Loki agrees.

 He himself finds it terribly presumptuous of the Jarl to send such an invitation. He is hardly a friend of the family, and yet he request to be singled out with such an honor as having the King celebrate with him. One would need a very good reason to ask for such favor.

 Politics are usually the only reason needed; the more he thinks about it, the more Loki has an idea of the Jarl’s motivations.

 “Öndóttr Sveiddottir is married to Gulli Dóttason, is she not?” he asks, looking at his father.

 The king looks at him with slight surprise. “Indeed she is. I hadn’t expected you to know that.”

 Loki shrugs, uncertain if he should be flattered or irritated by that comment. “Your tutors have been put to good use,” he says with a modesty he does not feel. The truth is that he has committed to memory all the relationships between the influential Jarls, in an effort to have a better grasps in the dynamics between Asgard’s regions. The political advisers his father had suggested he shadows had commented in passing on the usefulness of such knowledge, so Loki had put himself to the task.  


 He knows for a fact that Thor did not go through such trouble. Knows that his brother has learned only what he needed to, nothing more, because he is not nearly as skilled as Loki in these matters.

 He very much wants to tell his parents all this, but also knows he very much shouldn’t. It would be completely crass of him, and only make him look jealous and bitter rather than more competent. (He is all those things, though).

 “What does her marriage change in this matter?” asks Thor. He is free to admit ignorance, since their father has just declared he would not criticize them for it.

 “Gulli is Jarl Dótta Lokason’s second born son, therefore when he married Lord Sveid’s only daughter, it has been expected that any of his descendants would belong to the house of Sveid, to prevent any rivalries between Gulli and his brother, who is Jarl Lokason’s rightful heir. Moreover, it gave Jarl Fenrirson’s lands the younger warrior figure he could no longer be, someone to shine honor upon the House whilst the daughter manages the household.” Their Father explains.

“Also as you may remember, Jarl Fenrirson’s lands are the closest to the Vana-Kvísl river and thus to one of our borders with Vanaheim. And though we live peaceful times, it is a much transited path for commerce with Asgard for both Vanaheim and Nidavellir. The rivalry between them make it difficult for Jarl Sveid and his daughter’s husband to keep the peace in the field, and I assume it’s been quite the feat for Öndóttr to maintain a Household mostly by herself, _while_ pregnant.” Added Frigga.  


 “However, ever since that child has been born, Lord Dótta has been pushing for him to be recognized as a member of his line.” Odin continues with a scowl. “Since the child stands to inherit the lands someday, whichever House he belongs to would claim ownership over them.”

 “But he has given his word!” Thor exclaims heatedly. “Surely he would not go back on it?”

 Loki rolls his eyes. He wonders if Thor has understood any of what their father has just said, or if he merely caught on to the part where an As might not stay true to his promise. “It’s politics Thor,” he says with barely concealed condescension. “Of course he would.”

 “Not if he is a Lord worthy of his name!” his brother snaps back. “Moreover, I do not see how it can work! The agreement between the two houses has been made known, the contract between the two must state that the babe is to be of the House of Sveid.”

 “Oh, well if the contract says so…”

 “Boys,” their mother says sharply. The two of them look down immediately, years of habit making them looks suitably chastised. Once she is satisfied with their behavior, she continues. “Reputation can go a long way in such matters. If the court accepts Lord Gulli’s son as part of the House of Dótta, what is written on paper will matter little.”

 “Which is why Jarl Sveid made his request. If we attend the banquet he himself organized, we would be showing support to his side of this argument.”

 “Then we must go,” Thor states with certainty. “Is it not our duty to defend subjects against such wrongs?”

  Loki himself is of a different opinion. True, Jarl Sveid is the wronged party in this affair, but whatever happens between the two Lords, it will hardly affect the crown. This is important, for whilst the royal family is sworn to protect the subjects, it can hardly be expected to intervene in every single affair. Priorities must be made, and although the status of the child is of great import for those two families, it isn’t for the whole of Asgard.

 Therefore, if it were up to Loki, he wouldn’t do such a favor for free; he is willing to wager that the Jarl would pay a high price to have his line secure.

  _I doubt you should express such views, Loki-dear. Asgard would not approve._

He stomps down a surge of irritation. He is well aware of that fact, and does not need any reminder.

 “Not exactly, Thor,” Odin says to temper his son. “These are not the sort of affairs a King should invest himself in. However, it would be for the best to put this situation to a rest before any further complications should arise.”

 “Therefore, I have decided that both you and Loki are to attend the feast, to symbolize our opinion on this matter.”

 Oh.

 He really should have expected that, all things considered. There are very few reasons why their father would summon the two of them in his study, and it should have been obvious once a mention of a trip was made.

 It doesn’t stop Loki from being truly thrown by the suggestion.

 “You have lied to me, Mother,” he jokes to cover up his unease. “I find this news most dire indeed.”

 “Yes, you may actually have to breathe fresh air for once. How terrible.” Thor’s jest is said in a good-natured tone, and stunning Loki for half a second. Is his brother clever now?

 It could be possible: Loki has quite frankly little idea what Thor gets up to with Sif and Fandral, only hearing about their feats through the talks of the court or his brother’s own accounts. In both cases, there is mainly an emphasis on blades and the various monsters they can be used on, but who knows? Maybe his brother has accidently stumbled upon a long lost trace of wit during one of his excursions.

  _Yes, I am certain the chimeras are stunning flyters_ _._

He snorts at his friend’s comment despite himself, then immediately composes himself and looks around, alarmed. The last thing he wants is to explain why he seemingly laughed for no reason.

 Luck is on his side, however. The timing makes it seem as if he is laughing at Thor’s joke, causing both him and his mother to smile.

 This trip could be a chance to showcase his talents to his father, demonstrate his abilities, and it is something he would much rather do alone. Having Thor at his side means the merit would automatically be divided among the two.

_Then again, I imagine the Lord would be ever so disappointed not to have the golden prince in his household_ _._

 The thought brings a bitter taste to his mouth. Thor is already renowned for his fighting skills, praised as a prodigy on the battlegrounds. Loki’s skills, on the other hand, are much less valued: the majority only hear of his tricks and disgraceful illusions. Only his mother and a few _seidr_ manns truly appreciate the intricacies and complexities of his spells.

 Odin should as well, but again, it would suite him much better were Loki more like Thor.

 So no, he thinks darkly, he does not want Thor there. He knows he can do very well alone, and he should be able to reap whatever praise may come from this on his own.

 It is what he deserves, after all this time.

But of course, he cannot say all this. “If this is what you wish, we will gladly comply.”

 “Aye!” booms Thor, puffing his chest.

 Father surveils them both – Loki could swear his eye lingers on him a while longer than on his brother – before nodding. “It is agreed then. Jarl Sveid’s estate is but a day’s ride away, so your absence should last five days at the most. I expect you to make the proper arrangements, you have done this before.”

 “Of course, Father,” Thor says, standing. “I shall go warn my companions immediately.”

 Loki rolls his eyes. “We are not leaving until months have passed, brother. There is no need to do everything in a rush.”

 “Perhaps, but I know Sif and Fandral would be most crossed if I did not inform them of my departure. I do not wish to keep such information from them any longer than I have to. I’m certain you understand.”

  No, he does not really. The Casket became aware of this trip the same time Loki did, and he does not know of anyone else who would wish to be informed of his departure, unless it is to rejoice from the news.

 He ignores the small weight he feels in his throat, and merely shakes his hand dismissively. “Well, do as you wish. It matters little to me.”

 “Of course, my aloof brother,” Thor replies with a grin. “I look forward to our expedition.”

 And that is a plain lie, Loki thinks. Thor has never desired his company in any particular way, and has no reason to start now. This is most likely just a performance for the benefit of their parents. He forces himself to keep that in mind as the corner of his lips twitch upward.

  _Don’t be foolish now, Loki._

He feels a weight on his shoulder, and it takes him a moment to realize that it isn’t his friend but his mother’s hand. It is with her in mind that he answers. “Me as well.”

 With one last grin and a bow to their parents, Thor leaves.

 It is only the three of them in the room, and no one resumes the conversation. They stand quietly in the room, and the silence stretches on, and on, until it becomes extremely awkward.

 Rationally, Loki knows it must have lasted only twenty seconds at most, but it feels like ages.

 There is nothing for him to say, really, and in other circumstances he would have excused himself at the same time as his brother. However, his father is watching him intently once more, obviously wishing to say something more, something Loki will probably not wish to hear.

 Odin never actually speaks up, though, and his gaze turns towards Loki’s mother. Loki turns slightly to glance at her, only to find her staring back at her husband. There is a silent conversation between the two that he cannot even begin to understand. This serves in making the situation even more miserable.

 “I am glad this matter is settled,” his father says at last. His manner is completely composed and dignified, as if the last painful minute hasn’t happened at all. “I shall see you tonight, but for now I must leave. The throne never waits.”

 Loki could almost cry with relief. “Of course,” he answers smoothly. His father turns to leave, and Loki makes a move to follow, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

 “One moment, my son,” his mother says, “I would like one last word with you.”

 He turns towards her as the door shuts. “Yes?”

 She says nothing at first, her hands fidgeting together slightly. It is a nervous gesture they both share, although they are both equally adept at keeping it reigned in. He doesn’t know if him seeing her do so is a sign of her nerves or just a mark of her ease with him, that she would allow such a display for what would be only slight hesitance.

 Eventually though, she finds her words and her hands still. “I know you have never been too keen on taking trips. I hope you do not find too much displeasure with this one.”

 He almost winces. It is true that he has taken to avoiding leaving the capital if possible. The first time he had left for some reason he honestly no longer remembers, he had quickly realized that the Casket’s voiced had seemed… faded. It was still present of course, but sounded much more distant. Its touches had seemed weaker as well, and all in all It had been much easier to ignore, had Loki wanted to.

 Not that he did of course, but that hadn’t reassured his friend any. As soon as Loki had returned, the Casket had yelled, had howled at him, and nothing Loki said had appeased it. It hadn’t mattered that he hadn’t been gone far or long. It hadn’t mattered that it hadn’t been his idea. His friend had been so angry.

 Just thinking about it, Loki can feel an echo of the pain.  


 But everything had resolved itself once he had promised not to leave again if he could help it, and that had finally been enough to calm it down.

 ( _I love you so, my Loki, you understand why I can’t let anything take you from me?_ )

 He smiles at his mother. “I am a creature with a taste for comfort and luxury,” he says in a self-deprecating tone. “I enjoy my fine possessions, my bearings and familiarity with my surroundings. It isn’t very warrior-like to be certain, but there you have it.” He forces out a chuckle, before taking her hand in his. “I promise you though that I will not suffer for this trip.”

 “If you say so, then I am glad to hear it,” she answers softly. Her hand reaches out to caress his face. “I know that traveling with your brother will be challenging enough, I do not want for anything else to make this harder for you.”

 “Come now, Mother,” he smirks, “Thor is not quite that bad.”

 She doesn’t smile in return, just lowers her hand over his and squeezes. “I do hope that matters will go well between the two of you.” The gaze she gives him is oddly intense. “Both my sons are so incredibly dear to me.”

 He sighs in acceptance and fondness. His mother worries, he knows, just as much as he knows what she wishes to hear. And right now in her presence and with her love shining through her eyes, he is inclined to give it to her. “I promise you, I will be on my best behavior.” He hadn’t intended to cause a scene anyway, out of self-preservation if nothing else, but for her he will make an additional effort to be agreeable.

  _We can only hope your brother does the same_

 Yes, that would make everything more difficult. But he shan’t go back on his words, especially not because of the likes of Thor. In fact, if he could remain exemplary whilst his brother were to flounder and be the upsetting one…

 Considerations for latter.

 “Is that all you wished to tell me, Mother?”

 “All? Certainly not, for I will never tire of your company” She laughs lightly. “But that is indeed why I have asked you to stay.”

 “Then, if it is alright with you,” he says with a smile and a slight bow, “I will take my leave.”

 “Of course,” she replies whilst looking intently at the door. She turns back towards him and kisses his brow, something he only allows her to do. “I would not keep you from your activities.”

 “Except when you call for a meeting in the King’s study,” he comments with a smirk.

 She smacks his arm playfully. “Such disrespect at such a young age. There was a time where you never questioned me so!”

 “There was also a time when all I did was eat, sleep and tend to bodily needs. I find I like the present situation much better.”

 She laughs high and loud this time. “You were an exhausting babe, and now an exhausting youth. Some things shall never change.”

 “Like the beauty of the All-Mother?”

 “Flatterer,” she shakes her head fondly.

 Loki’s smirk is playfully as he opens the door to depart…

 And stills.

 “Loki! It is delightful to see you today! How does it fare with you?”

  The urge is strong, very strong, to turn around and glare at his mother. He has no doubt she is behind…whatever this is.

 Sigyn is standing in front of him, looking as put together as she usually is. Much like Hogun, she has adopted an Aesir style wardrobe, as is proper when residing in another realm. The colors however call back to her home province in Vanaheim: the blue she wears is much brighter than can be typically found in Asgard. It is also a much better to compliment her skin, which has a golden peach tone that sets her apart from the Aesir light pink. It is also different from Hogun’s skin tone, although the two of them share the same Vanir traits of dark hair and slightly slanted eyes.

 She is in a very good mood, he can tell. Her usually large eyes are crinkled in repressed laughter, her high cheekbones bones are made even more defined by the wide smile she bears. With her short chin-length hair and flat nose, it makes her look two centuries younger than she truly is.

 As much as her presence generally upsets his intentions to keep his distance, he cannot be rude to her, not with his mother watching. Moreover, he never truly had the heart to be, not when she has been nothing but polite and friendly.

 “Quite well, I thank you,” he replies smoothly. “I hadn’t expected to find you in the King’s halls…?” This area of the palace is mostly frequented by politicians and other officials. While it is not forbidden for Sigyn to access, her presence here is still highly irregular. This only reinforces the idea that his mother has somehow enforced this – it is doubtful that Odin would take the time.

 Surely enough, his suspicions are quickly confirmed. “Lady Sigyn has expressed an interest in weaving, and has shown much promise in that art,” says Frigga, making the girl in question slightly blush. “I have decided to teach her what I know.”

 He takes that information in stride. He has no doubt his mother planned for them to run into each other; it is most likely why she kept him back those five additional minutes. She probably hoped to force them to interact in some way that would satisfy her.

 He holds back a light huff. He has made his views on the matter quite clear, and he doesn’t see why Sigyn would want to spend any more time in his company than she does.

 “The Queen requested that I meet her here at this hour,” continues Sigyn. “Such an honor demands the utmost dedication, so of course I could not do anything but obey, wouldn’t you agree?”

 “Of course,” Loki replies with a smile that is only slightly strained. Deep down, he is rather pleased with this development: Sigyn talks about weaving the same way he talks about seidr, and although he is hardly familiar with the techniques, he has always found her joy for the craft infectious. “I have no doubt you will excel.” Then he adds with a smirk, “My mother is skilled enough to salvage the most desperate cases.”

 “You tell me what I already know, Prince Loki.” Her expression turns cheeky. “Why, centuries in her care have almost made you tolerable!”

 He snorts. “Perhaps with much work you will manage to achieve as much.” This exchange of barbs has relaxed him immensely, but he really shouldn’t linger much longer. “I will not keep you any longer then. You must be eager to start.” With that, he makes a move to leave.

 “One moment, Loki!” his mother calls, effectively halting him mid-step.

 She turns towards Sigyn. “I intended to start our lessons in my garden, as I find the atmosphere there to be particularly pleasant for such activities. However, I am afraid there is an unexpected matter I must attend to before we begin.” She gestures towards Loki. “If it is no bother to you, perhaps Loki can escort you there. This way you can get settled, and I shall join you shortly.”

 “I am quite incapable of begrudging the Queen of Asgard anything,” Sigyn responds politely. She then turns towards him. “It would be a pleasure, if Loki has no objections?”

 Loki has objections. Loki has many objections, first and foremost is that he is absolutely certain that this “unexpected matter” does not exist. This is merely his mother frustrated with the state of his relationship with Sigyn, and taking matters into her own hands.

 Those that call him devious have clearly never met their queen.

 He could refuse, technically. It would save him from the Casket’s disappointment, or anger. But it would be rude, and suspicious, and if this scheme is any indication to his mother’s commitment, it would only delay the matter.

 He sends his friend a silent question, asking for its thoughts. He gets no answer. It is slightly unsettling, but he does not have the time to dwell on it, not with the two looking at him expectantly. So he answers, and hopes he will not get in trouble for this.

 “Of course,” he says cordially. “It would be my pleasure.”

 He is rewarded with both their smiles, and his mother’s approving gaze. As befits his education, he gives Sigyn his arm, and with one last salute to his mother, the two of them depart.

 This truly means nothing, he rationalizes. He will merely escort her to the gardens, and then depart. Perhaps some small chatter along the way, as politeness dictates.

 Really, a few minutes in her company shouldn’t upset the Casket. At least Loki doesn’t think it will. He has become rather good at judging what makes his friend angry and what it allows. For the most part, these are simple enough requests to grant, nothing that he does not usually do.

 The Casket has a temper, and sometimes it is simply not worth angering It. The time they spend together when they are not fighting is extremely pleasant, so why try to ruin that?

 He is aware of the irony in him thinking such a thing, when he can be so contrary towards the rest of his family. But this is entirely different.

 “…and I do believe you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, dear Loki,” Sigyn says pointedly.

 He is startled out of his thoughts, and smiles sheepishly. “A sound belief, I am sorry to say.”

 “Most vexing,” she says with a sigh. “Am I truly as dull as that?”

 “I wouldn’t know, I wasn’t listening.”

 He is rewarded with a loud bark of laughter. “I have brought that upon myself, haven’t I?” She shakes her head. “I was mentioning the diversity of plant life that can be found in Asgard’s plains, so different from those in Vanaheim. It is a marvel, don’t you agree?”

 “I wouldn’t know either,” he answers. “I have never been to your earldom.”

 “Ah, what delights you miss! My home is a most wondrous land! Although I know very well that my judgment may be biased, I cannot help but think that Asgard’s golden spires pales in comparison to the shine of Geirlaug Lake.”

 “I do not doubt its beauty for a second,” he answers politely. He has never liked whenever she goes waxing in poetics and metaphors. He finds it makes the conversation much less genuine, and much duller.

 She glances at him sideways before she speaks again, and for a second she looks slightly anticipatory. “Still, there are many plants to be found here that cannot be found elsewhere, some even that are used for coloring. I myself have always been fond of creating my own dyes for my textiles, so of course this interests me greatly.

 “In fact, I had been planning on walking the forest grounds tomorrow, in order to gather some of them. Would you care to accompany me?”

 He looks away slightly, hesitating. It is a most gracious offer, offered in politeness, nothing more. However, harvesting in the forests takes time, and well… “I thank you for your offer, My Lady,” he says quietly, “however, I’m afraid I care very little for the woods surrounding the palace.” He offers, no further explanation, satisfied that she won’t press the issue.

 Sigyn halts her steps suddenly, her grip on his arm tightening and holding him back in turn. He looks at her in surprise, only to be met by a strangely intent glare directed right towards him.

 “Loki?”

 “Yes, my Lady?”

 “Are we ever going to address the fact that you are behaving like a little shit?”

 He blinks.

 What?

 She huffs in irritation at his blank stare. “Well, perhaps little shit are not the appropriate words, but you are most definitely acting like a cold bastard.”

 What…?

 “And now you’re just gawking! It’s hardly any better.”

 “…You don’t swear.”

 “Pardon?” she snaps.

  Loki’s voice is a mixture of confusion and wonderment. “You are Sigyn, from Vanaheim, daughter of Duke Iwaldi. You don’t swear.”

 She rolls her eyes. “Well then, care to explain what it is I just did?”

 He would, really, if he weren’t so destabilized by what’s before him.

 Her entire demeanor has changed. Not in the way she holds herself: still straight and dignified like most of noble birth are taught to be. It is the small expressions that alter her completely. Her nostrils are slightly flared, her arms are crossed defensively, and in her irritation her jaw is hanging slightly open in a permanent huff. Nothing extraordinary, but entirely out of place on a Vanir from her earldom, who all seem to have adopted the same affected and haughty mannerisms.

 “Such behavior, Sigyn,” he chides in an effort to regain his footing. “Your mother wouldn’t approve.”

 “I don’t give a _damn,_ ” she says pointedly. “And I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

 “…I won’t?”

 “Good, we have that at least. Now, why the Hel are you lying to me?”

 He recoils slightly at the accusation, and stands taller. Despite his initial shock, he does not like her tone at all, and so he answers in an irritation that matches her own. “Perhaps my Lady would like to calm down before throwing such aggressive accusations.”

 “Enough with the chimera shit!” she shouts, her voice sharp and hitting like a whip. She turns her head and closes her eyes, as if mentally counting. Once she has apparently calmed down, she resumes. “You do enjoy walking into the woods for plants. You use them in your potions, and prefer to use only material you yourself have collected, when you can. I _know_ all that, because you said so in your letters. So I know you are lying to me.”

 “Perhaps my preferences have changed,” he answers as coldly as he can, which isn’t much. He did mention it once, in passing, and that was some time ago. He honestly didn’t expect her to remember…

 “See, I don’t think they did.” She narrows her eyes. “I think you are trying to avoid spending time with me, for no reason that I can imagine. Have I done something to upset you?”

 “Of course not, my Lady,” he says with a slight tilt of his head, years of practice allowing him to keep his voice steady. “However, if my presence in your company is upsetting to _you_...”

 “Don’t twist my words like that, you bigglesnipe arse!” she interrupts angrily. “That is not what I meant and you -” She stops abruptly, pinching her lips together. She exhales loudly, then starts over. “I don’t wish to fight with you, Loki. That is not what I intended this conversation to turn into. I am going to go collect some plants for my dyes tomorrow. I would very much enjoy it if you came with me. Would you give me the pleasure?”

 Despite her obvious frustration, she is being completely honest, he can tell. This…isn’t what he expected. 

 He isn’t certain how to deal with this. “I won’t be of any help, I’m afraid.”

 “Well, I am not asking for your help, am I?” she says with a small smile. “I’m asking for your company.”

 But that’s exactly it. He spends his entire day with only the Casket, from the moment he wakes up until he goes to sleep. He has to, he owes it to his friend.

Besides, no one else asks for his company.

 He… rather likes it.

 “I fear you may be disappointed by what you receive.” His voice sounds strange even to his own ears. “But as it is, I need to collect some more mistletoe. It would have to be in the early morning though, for it to have the most of its magical properties.”

 “That is fine, I am an early riser.” Her gaze is much gentler now, and she looks much more relaxed then seconds prior. “We’ll meet each other tomorrow morning then, maybe an hour before breakfast? That will give time for the spear to come out of your arse.” She flashes him a smile, then curtsies. “Good day, Prince Loki.”

 She walks away then. He watches her leave, unsure of what he feels.

 He really shouldn’t have accepted. The Casket will not be pleased with him, might even be truly angry. This will only make his life harder. She may not even be worth it, she may just scorn him after one meeting like others have, she…

 She knew the way to the gardens the whole time, he realizes as she makes the proper turn.

 He passes his hand in his hair with a breathy chuckle. “Well played”.

 He turns back on his steps and goes to rework the calculations of his latest project.

 Throughout all this, the Casket remains silent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! Sigyn finally makes an appearance! It's kind of funny for me, I had her planned since the early days of this fic, and now I'm finally writing her in. It's like a milestone for me. (I'm also amazed I got this far in the fic....Oo Thank you for sticking around!)


	16. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter from hell. FROM HELL, PEOPLE! Not only was it difficult for me to write, for some reason, my computer also crashed when I was about 3/4 of the way done. I'm pretty sure I experience the five stages of grief during this one.
> 
> Anyway, here it is. Huge thanks to my lovely beta, the amazing amethyst_uk! She is Queen of all!

 

 

 

 

There are many reasons he shouldn’t be here, Loki reflects glumly.

 Whilst it is true that he needed some more mistletoe, nothing made the matter urgent. The only reason he is now waiting in the hall leading to the gardens so early in the morning is because Sigyn has roped him into coming with her.

 True, he had technically offered her to come along, but she had ambushed him first, hadn’t she? She had looked so smug, having successfully trapped him like that. Completely disregarding the clear signs that he did not particularly desire to have her around.

 Surely, that does not bode well for a relationship? Like Thor, like Baldr, not considering or caring about his wishes on matters. He would have thought for sure that the Casket would not have…approved of him waiting for her like this. It can get so protective, when it comes to Loki getting hurt. And yet, when he had asked It for guidance, Its response had been most detached.

_ Do as you will, my Loki. I shan’t dictate your behavior. _

Hardly helpful at all. And he needs all the help he can get in this new situation.

 It has been decades since he last talked to anyone outside of his family and tutors with any sort of frequency. Of course, he still interacts with his peers during training, but talking is limited in those times. Tyr has grown less tolerant as they grew older, if that is at all possible. He talks with Thor’s friends a little more often, but that is not saying much.  He also enjoys riling up Gildi, but that is done only in the absence of witnesses.

 Needless to say, he is out of practice when it comes to having a cordial conversation. And despite the rather confrontational way this little expedition was organized, he has no desire to hurt or antagonize Sigyn. He is almost certain he will though, if only because she will eventually find some aspect of his personality distasteful.

 It is hardly a coincidence that he is held in lower regard by most of  Asgard , after all. Like most, she will eventually flock towards Thor, for whatever reason she will find

 He’ll be left with the Casket, alone. It is all he needs.

 He is pulled out of that train of thought by the sound of footsteps coming nearer. He turns to find Sigyn walking towards him.

 Her steps are confident as she walks towards him. He finds himself hoping it is just a facade, and that she is secretly feeling as much trepidation as him.

 “Hello, Loki,” she greets him politely, “you look like shit.”

 Well then. Apparently not.

 “I’ve had a horrible night with the thought of meeting you,” he responds dryly, “what is your excuse?”

 She smirks in good humor. “ Asgard’s  sun is dreadful on my delicate Vanir skin. You should be concerned, oh noble prince.”

 He raises an eyebrow, begrudgingly impressed. The little conversation he has engaged with in others have not accustomed him to such banter. Generally speaking, his mother will be amused by light-hearted flattery, and the Casket will indulge in some back and forth, so long as Loki doesn’t go too far.

 “I’d sooner think it is you who is too fragile,” he shoots back. “Hogun has never expressed such discomfort.”

 She scoffs. “If that boy ever vocalizes anything, then you most likely have a far bigger problems on your hand.”

 A bark of laughter escapes him. “Yes, but whilst I am preparing for the oncoming Ragnarok  him speaking heralded, I will be certain to shield you from the sun.”

 “Much obliged.” She grins. “Until then, shall we go?”

 “Of course,” Loki replies. The small exchange has already left him much more relaxed than mere moment ago, and the two of them set off quite happily. 

 The woods themselves are not far away, barely a five minute walk. However, the outer section is very much domesticated, to suit the Lord and Ladies that would like a walk without the struggle of wild nature. As such, an additional ten minutes have to be taken account, leaving the stone paths in order to go through much denser trees.

Sigyn had managed to keep up for most of the way, but is now falling behind. Although she is properly dressed for such activities, bearing a tight shirt and practical pants, the big wooden box she is trailing with  her slows her down considerably, and consequently, slows him down as well. 

 “What do you need such a cumbersome box for?” he asks, only slightly irritated.

 “ It’s my plant box.  To  separate what I collect according to species and color,” she says with a huff as she climbs over some thorns. “The entire purpose of  this trip for me is to collect some material for my dyes. If the colors bleed together, the whole enterprise is moot.”  The rest of her explanation is cut off by her swearing when the box in question gets caught in a low hanging branch.

 “It is still ridiculously unpractical,” he responds. “Do you need help carrying it?”

 “No, no, not at all,” she says hurriedly. “I will manage just fine.”

 Loki shrugs. He has no true desire to carry around pointless baggage. If Sigyn wishes to be stubborn, then it suits him just fine. “When you drop the box and it shatters against the ground, I will laugh.”

 “If the box breaks from such a low fall, then it is a shit box anyway.”

 “The sun confuses you, my Lady. You said moments ago that it was a plant box”

 The bark of laughter answering him is neither dignified nor discrete. “Nicely done,” she snickers. “I do know of an actual shit box, if you care to know. It was a gift for my cousin.”

 He stops to glance sideways at her. “And he politely accepted?”

 “Well,” she smirks, “he may not have been entirely aware of it s  content at the time.”

 Well, now he is just intrigued. “Do tell.”

 Satisfaction is rolling off her in waves. “I believe I’ve mentioned him once or twice. His name is Magni, if you have forgotten – and how I would envy you if that were the case, as I am sadly constantly reminded of his existence. Well, dear Magni had come to our earldom for a couple days with his father, my mother’s brother. Since it was such a short trip, most of his belongings were kept in one big trunk, in his chambers that he never bothered locking.

 “ A s soon as he had left the first day, I went into his bedroom to find his voyage case, and emptied it of its contents . Now, of course, my most esteemed cousin only travels with the finest of materials ,” she says, rolling her eyes, “so his trunk was in fact extremely luxurious for its size, complete with a thick velvet padding in the bottom.”  She grunts once more as she hauls her luggage over a branch.

 “Obviously, unwise box choices run in the family,” Loki quips. “What a peculiarly specific flaw.”

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbles. “We are talking about my cousin right now.” She smirks, eyes glinting . “To make a long story short, somehow that velvet padding found itself stuffed with goat shit, the stink of which clung to his clothing like a leech. He spent the entire trip wondering where the smell came from. ”

 Loki whistles. “I am both impressed by and wary of this newly discovered viciousness. Any reason for that particular prank?”

 “Sweet, sweet revenge.” She shrugs. “I just really do not like the bastard.”

 “Clearly.”

 The two of them arrive in a clearing shortly after, perfectly suitable for their needs. The conversation dies down as they both focus on their respective tasks. 

 Loki settles himself next to a mistletoe bush, and starts cutting of some plants at a slow pace. He can afford taking his time, seeing as all he has to do is fill is rather small pouch. On the other hand, Sigyn is running in all directions, sometimes leaving the clearing to find some intriguing plant that caught her eye. Once her hands are full  she  marches back to her big container in the center of the clearing, empties her hand and goes to gather again.

 All in all, the process is so incredibly inefficient it almost physically pains Loki. Still, not willing to ruin the good mood, he bites his tongue and says nothing.

 Surprisingly enough, the Casket does not comment on any of this. Unusual, and a little unsettling. However, Loki does not dare remark on this; his friend does not like it when he gets too demanding.

 Occasionally, she will ask him about its properties; although he could not imagine what she might want to do with such information, seeing as she herself does not practice  seidr , he still answered to the best of his ability.

 Quite frankly, the ability to talk about a subject so dear to him is incredibly liberating. So far, the only two who shared any interest were his mother and the Casket. The first of the two listens eagerly, but never seemed to want to engage too much. The other is a constant reminder of all the areas he can improve, and all the mistakes he  has  made. (Which is good, truly, because his friend only wants him to improve, and challenges him because It loves him.)

Sigyn, on the other hand, seems both admiring of his knowledge and eager to learn more. She smiles whenever he answers, and he cannot help but smile in return.

 They spend some time that way, bouts of conversation starting and dying down. Whenever they do not speak, the silence is not uncomfortable.

 Eventually, though, the inevitable happens: after dozens of exhausting looking back-and- forths , as  Sigyn  is climbing over some thorns, her foot gets caught into some looping root. She trips, landing flat on her stomach. Her legs snags on a thorn, ripping her pants’ leg from the knee all the way down to mid-calf.

 “Dammit to all Hel !” she shouts, before dissolving into another string of curses. 

 “Are you alright?” he asks, slightly alarmed. He would be surprised to find her injured, but it could happen.

 “I’m fine,” she reassures, still grumbling as she gets up. “My pants, on the other hand….”

 “Oh, well that is nothing,” he says, waiving his hand. “The palace’s seamstresses can take care of that.”

 “Oh, mercy no,” she protests . “I’d much rather do it myself. Weave a patch of cloth, then sew it on. It’ll take a few hours at most.”

 “You are very much independent when it comes to your craft, aren’t you?” he says casually, already turning back towards the mistletoe bush. 

 “Meaning?”

 He stills. Her tone is defensive, something he honestly hadn’t expected.  Cautiously, he continues. “I only meant that you enjoy doing things on your own. You would not let me help  you with your luggage, you clearly dislike the idea of anyone other than you mending your clothing…” he trails off, before clearing his throat. “It was just an observation.”

 “Well,” she says hotly, “maybe I am merely confident enough in my own ability, and do not need any assistance from anyone. Maybe I enjoy keeping my independence when I can!”

 Loki represses a wince, but barely. It is as he predicted: he has offended her. He has some practice antagonizing others, but this time he did not have to try in order to do so. 

 It’s… disheartening, quite frankly. The day had been going rather well, and despite himself he had found himself hoping that he had found someone other than the Casket that would enjoy his company. (Not that he  needs  anyone else, of course.)

 Alas, that is obviously not the case. Hopefully, his friend will not berate him too much for wasting both their time.

 “I meant no disrespect,” he says quietly, before turning back towards his tools. He can already predict the rest of their morning: awkward silence, until they had to go back to the palace. From there, they wouldn’t talk to each other again, unless they have to.

 “I did not mean that.”

 He looks up, startled although her voice had been quiet . “I should not have snapped at you,” she continues. “ It is a sensitive subject with me, and you shouldn’t take the brunt of it.”

 “ It’s alright ,” he replies, although strictly speaking it isn’t true. He does not see why it would be a sensitive subject in the first place. However, it is not his place to ask, and he would not even if he could. Now that she has acknowledged that she was in the wrong, his vindictiveness has tied itself to his caution, and he no longer wishes to pursue this conversation.

Sigyn , however, is of a different mind. “It’s just… Most of my weaving, sewing, and so forth, I do on my own. I don’t have much of a choice, truly. So many would see me pursue something “more worthwhile”, so I am frequently encouraged to give up on all of it.”

 “More “worthwhile?”” he asks, stunned. “What does that even mean?”

 She sighs. “It means that me weaving is frowned upon by most of the nobility in my earldom.”

He pauses. “I wasn’t aware that customs were so different in Vanaheim .”

 “About what is acceptable?” she says with a bitter smile. “When I first came here, I was stunned when I realized that not only would I be encouraged to know how to weave, but that it would also be expected of me. It was…” she shakes her head, running a hand through her hair. “Well, it was a change of pace, to say the least. A welcome one.”

 It is a huge effort to keep his face composed. “I see.”

 It irks him, that she should be so content in  Asgard  when he is not. Childish, he knows, petty even. But why should a Vanir be so suited to life here when the prince is not?

 “I live in a place where intellect is all anyone cares about,” she continues. “Who can write the best poem, say the wittiest quip, and have the most knowledge and so forth. Weaving is much too manual, does not reflect intelligence in any way. So of course, having the daughter of the high Lord enjoy such pursuits… well, it reflect badly.”   


 Loki closes his eyes, and swallows. 

 That is familiar, much too familiar for comfort. Again, he finds his mind drifting towards Thor, and  Asgard , and all the way he fails at meeting standards that seem so arbitrary at times, and so absolute at others.  “I am sorry to hear that.”

 “Thank you,” she says quietly. She then goes back to pick up the plants on the ground, who have stayed there since she fell. “You know, you would do well, in my province. I’ve shown my mother a couple of your letters, she has high praises for both your writing style and your wit.”

 His eyebrows shoot up, his mouth parts open. The compliment has been given so casually and openly, he is truly unsure how to react to it. So he decides to dismiss it. “Perhaps she does not wish for  Heimdall  to report her criticizing a Prince of Asgard .”

 “Perhaps Heimdall has more important matters to attend to than spying on one of the friendlier regions of an allied Realm,” she shoots back, before adopting a thoughtful air . “Although if he truly is so idle, maybe you could task him with finding some blackmail material on my little shit of a cousin. It shouldn’t be too hard; surely, being the filthy bastard that he is, he has mistreated at least one of the thousands of people who fawn over him for his -” she snaps her mouth shut, blushing in embarrassment.

 Loki looks at her, understanding dawning upon him. “Your cousin is well-liked, I take it?” he asks before he can censure himself.  “And does very well in all the intellectual matters that are so valued?”

 She looks away. “That is not the only reason I dislike him.” She takes a deep breath. “But it does contribute.” She refuses to looks at him.

 “I understand,” he says, and he can see her own expression morphing into surprise, trying to be concealed but failing at it. “Truly, I do.”

 It is not often that he attempts to reassure someone; he is hardly comfortable in this position. But it seems to do the trick, for she looks at him with a small but sincere smile. 

 He lets out a sigh in relief. He honestly did not wish to say more,  and  what he did admit  is already an immense admission.  He has referenced his troubles once or twice in his letters, but only in passing. (Although, he thinks, perhaps those mentions are the reason  Sigyn  has adopted that understanding air.)  He has learned already never to show such weakness.  His friend does not approve.

Are you so desperate to prove them right, boy? Or do you always need me with you in order to show some spine? I honestly do not know how you would have managed had we not met.

He grits his teeth. 

 Sigyn, on her part, looks much more joyful than mere moments ago. She chuckles, shaking her head in self-deprecation. “Look at us,” she says playfully, “ letting  ourselves  fall into  gloom  because of the little shits of the world. We should know better.”

 “Perhaps we can join forces. You curse at them till they surrender, I follow to keep them down.”

 “Oh, the swearing,” she says, both bemused and smug. “Are you ever going to get over that?”

 “In my defense, it was a great change of pace from what I had been accustomed to in your letters.”

 “Well of course it was,” she says with an eye roll. “My mother would read my letters before I sent them, I couldn’t put that sort of vocabulary in there, now could I?”

 “That explains the lack of swearing,” he points out, “not the ridiculous prose.”

 She blushes, chuckling in embarrassment. “Ah, yes that… It is how those in my province aspire to speak. At least, my attempt at it.” In the face of Loki’s increasingly amused expression, she blushes a bit more, getting slightly defensive. “It can be very nice, when done properly.”

 “Of course ,” he replies amicably, before ever so casually going back to his bush. He goes back to collecting the mistletoe, pretending not to notice  Sigyn’s  gaze upon him.

 She breaks two minutes later. “Tell me honestly, Loki, how bad was it?”

 He glances towards her, smirking. “Terrible.”

 She winces. “Damn.”

 They look at each other in silence, before bursting into laughter. The situation is not that funny, but their mirth seem to be infecting one another, and it takes them a good five minutes to settle down enough to get to work.

 The rest of the morning passes by fairly quickly, after that.

* * *

 

 “She was kind, wasn’t she?” Loki asks in the privacy of his own room.

 The day had been surprisingly busy, after he had returned with  Sigyn . During the mid-day meal, their parents had informed them that given that the two Princes would be gone from the capital for a week,  they should ensure to have all the lessons they were supposed to have during that time done before their departure. In all honesty, nothing indicated that they could not simply postpone everything until after their return. Their lesson plan spans over decades, surely a week behind is not of great import?

 In truth, Loki suspects that this is merely their parents pointedly choosing the harder way for them, most likely to remind them that official visits are no leisure trip, and must be prepared for. He himself hadn’t minded, but Thor had looked absolutely crest fallen. He had valiantly tried to conceal it when their father looked at him, but Loki doubts he has convinced anyone.

 Still, a busy day means that he barely had time at all to speak to the Casket, a fact that weighed more and more on his mind as the day went by. Although it is hardly his fault, he still needs to pay  his friend the attention It is due.

 So after having retired for the evening, he talks as he climbs into his bed. “I am glad that she has given up her insufferable speech pattern. I wonder if I am the only one who finds it horrendous. Perhaps others in Asgard are impressed by it.” The Casket does not respond, so he decides to prompt it. “Do you think they could be so foolish?”

 He waits a few seconds, and when no answer is forthcoming he grows uneasy. This sort of silence never announces anything good. “Is everything well?”

 A beat of silence once more, before It answers.

_Go to sleep, Loki_.

No anger in the voice, much to his relief. But it is still rather distant, and tinted with something else Loki cannot quite describe. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks hurriedly, trying very hard not to wince. “Please, I didn’t -”

_Loki. _

_ _ He snaps his mouth shut.

_ Go to sleep. _

__ Swallowing, he nods slowly. Laying down on his pillow, he turns on his side and closes his eyes. It is a struggle to keep them closed; he is not t ired and he dislikes the way it cuts him off from the world, when all his senses are on alert for some odd reason.  __

 Still, he perseveres.

_ Good child. _

 Forcing a smile, he snuggles into his cushions a little more.

 It is hours before he manages to fall asleep.

* * *

 For the second time in two days, Loki is up uncharacteristically early .

 It is not that he is prone to lay around in bed, but his natural rhythm consists mainly in staying up late, reading a tome or speaking with the Casket, and then  catching up as much sleep as possible in the morning. His duties as prince are still few enough that he can get away with such habits. 

 However, today, it is barely dawn  and he is already in the small square courtyard he often used to visit as a child. The air is still cool, and it is mostly quiet  save for the occasional servants coming through the neighboring halls. It is perfect for Loki, right now.

 His sleep had been… restless.  He never truly woke up, but every now and then he would resurface from oblivion, filed with discomfort and unease. Phantom sensations, and a deep pit in his stomach, before sleep would claim him anew. It had gone on for the entire night, until Loki woke up with a gasp to find himself shamefully hard. 

 It isn’t an uncommon happening for youths of his age, he knows, but the sight of it still filled him with a dread he could not fully explain. Rather than take himself in hand, as he knew most of his peers would do, he had run straight for his shower, hoping the cold water would be able to soothe him.

 It had, but barely, which is why he had come here, thinking distance and fresh air would be of more help .

 Alone with his thoughts, he decides that he truly does not like the way his body behaves without his permission. He will have to find a way to remedy it.

 “Loki?”

 The voice is kept quiet in order not to startle him, a sentiment he appreciates. He looks up with a smile. “Good morning, Sigyn. You are up early.”

 She smiles back, although he cannot help but notice that it is much more hesitant than yesterday. “Hello, Loki. So are you.”

 “I am a Prince , I do what I want.”

 “I am a guest, you have to humor me.”

 He inclines his head in concession. “Well then, my Lady, as you will.”

She nods. Her hands twist together in front of her, a clear nervous gesture. “I wasn’t meaning to stalk you,” she says out of the blue. “I was already awake, and the servants informed me that you were here. Do you mind if I join you?”

 He shows her the empty space around him. “Yes, of course. Have a seat.” He tries to keep his own perplexity out of his tone. The two of them have parted on good terms, surely there is no reason for her to be hesitant around him?

 She settles down next to him, not saying another word. Or rather, her mouth parts open a couple times, as if she is about to speak, but every time she closes it again before she has said anything.

 Loki had been willing to give her enough time to formulate whatever thought is bothering her, but the silence is stretching on now, becoming more and more awkward by the second.  So he speaks up, hoping that conversation will cure  Sigyn  of whatever causes her nervousness.

 “Is there an-”

Sigyn turns towards him abruptly, effectively cutting him off. Looking straight at him, she blurts out.

 “I’m sorry.”

 He blinks, once, twice.  “Pardon?” 

 Her hands fidget on her lap some more, before she grabs her left one with her right in order to keep them still. With a deep breath, she elaborates. “I am sorry I ambushed you in the halls two days back. I knew you were not expecting me, and you had no intention of coming to see me. I couldn’t figure out why, so…” She pinches the bridge on her nose. “No, no, that is a shitty apology. If I wanted to approach you, I should have done so properly, I shouldn’t have taken advantage of your mother’s position or make you feel trapped. I am very sorry about that, Loki.”

 “Oh.”  Even after her explanation, he still does not understand why she apologized.

 Certainly, his pride had been stung that she  had managed to ambush him into bringing her along , but they had a good time in the end, so it was irrelevant. She had a motive, and it payed off, what does it matter how he felt about it?

 Loki likes to think that he isn’t so prideful as to not recognize when he is in the wrong. After all, the Casket took great care in humbling him so.  No matter how  sca… how much he dislikes it when the Casket is angry with him, there is no denying that his life becomes much easier once he stops angering  It .

 “It is alright,” he tells Sigyn with a soft smile. He has a feeling explaining his own reasoning to her would do little good . “I accept your apology.”

 Her shoulders visibly sag in relief, and she lets out a breath as she lets her head fall back. “Thank you,” she says, before groaning. “I would have been so damn furious with myself had I managed to ruin  our friendship  because I couldn’t respect boundaries.”

 “We’ve spent time in each other’s company twice, counting now, and have spoken to each other maybe ten times before,” Loki shrugs. “Such a young “friendship” would have been easily replaced.”

 He does not say this in any dramatic way, merely stating a fact. However, Sigyn still recoils slightly, and looks at him with an absolutely perplexed expression on her face. “I am not certain I would call decades of exchanging letters a “young” friendship,” she states, frowning. “And I am fairly certain it wouldn’t qualify on  Asgard  either.”

 It is Loki’s turn to be confused (again, it seems to be a habit with her). “Those were just letters, Sigyn .”

 “And?” Her question is genuine, tinted with a hint of aggravation. “Does it somehow not count?”

 “Well…” Not precisely, no, but surely if they had been friends before, Loki would have  noticed?  They were acquaintances before, nothing more. She hadn’t been in  Asgard  before, the Casket was and still is. It had been there for him, it had been his friend.

 She had just been…away.

 She groans in frustration. “I know I just said I would no longer ignore your feelings Loki, but really? Really?  I would be hurt right now if I didn’t believe you are just being obtuse!”

 “Pardon?”

 “Do you know how much I looked forward to your letters? Do you know how much time I spent on my replies?” Her tone rises at the same time as she starts waiving her hands in the air to accentuate what she is saying. Loki is oddly reminded of one of the maids as she berates him. “I would answer every month, without fail! That is more commitment than I am capable of for most things!”

 “I enjoyed your letters as well!” Loki protests. “But still, you must recognize that we were still Realms away!” He grits his teeth. “I expected that you had many companions in your own home, people that you saw daily rather than read their handwriting ever so often. You were bound to prefer their company!”

 “You are funnier than they are,” she deadpans. “And I don’t give them birthday gifts.”

 “What is a gift supposed to prove?” he says sharply. “Am I supposed to owe you for those vials?”

 “No, no, I did not mean it that way,” she says, pinching her eyebrows. “I meant that I gave those to you to make you happy, because it in turns makes me happy, because I consider you a friend!”

 “They did make me happy,” he says cautiously. 

 “And I adored your gift the next year,” she adds with a small smile. “I have it with me in my room.” 

 The knowledge warms Loki a little. “I’m glad”.

 Whatever peace he may have found though is brutally ended by her next words. “Honestly, Loki, d o you really believe I would upkeep decades of correspondence with someone I did not thoroughly value?”

 He sucks in a breath. If this is some kind of a joke, it is a cruel one. 

 He isn’t valued, that is the simple truth. Politically, the second prince is less regarded. In the eyes of  Asgard , he is the less promising son of Odin, the  seidr  user. The only one to hold that in high regard is the Casket, he has learned that the hard way. His mother, certainly, maybe, but she has more than once suggested that Loki spend more time practicing with the sword or any other weapon, which makes sense because she is the Queen and she needs him to be a Prince who-

 Ah.

Perhaps there lies his value after all, he thinks bitterly.

 “I imagine having a personal relationship with a prince of Asgard would be very valuable indeed.”

 Her eyes widen in horror. “Oh, no, Loki, I…”

 “I understand,” he says with a bitter smile. “Politics, is it not? After all, I imagine your family…”

 “You understand nothing, you thrice-damned moron!” she cuts him off, both angry and slightly panicked. “Loki, I promise, I swear on everything I hold sacred that your status as a prince has nothing to do with my friendship!”

 He wants to believe her, he truly does, but it makes so much more sense this way.

 He sends a silent plea to the Casket. It has been so uncharacteristically quiet these past two days, when it usually is so vocal about protecting him from others.  Surely, it will help him now?

 But his friend says nothing , and Loki is left alone to judge.

Sigyn  is looking at him pleadingly, getting visibly more and more nervous as he remains silent. He doesn’t believe that she is faking it.

 And that is the crux of the matter, isn’t it? It all depends on what Loki believes.  And looking back, the fact remains that  Sigyn and him have known each other for a long time, even from a distance. She sought out his company more than once, and Loki enjoyed the time they spent together. 

 It had been nice, having someone different to talk to. Not that he grows bored or unhappy with the Casket, but talking to Sigyn had been more light-hearted, more relaxed.

 He doesn’t allow himself to dwell on that thought. It all boils down to the fact that maybe, maybe Loki had been feeling a little lonely. And that he would enjoy more days like yesterday.

 He wants them to be friends. That seems to be well on its way.

 If the Casket isn’t saying anything, surely it does not disapprove? 

 Maybe it is not too foolish to believe this once.

 (If it turns out she is lying, well, he will find a way to destroy her.)

 “Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay, I believe you.”

Sigyn  lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she answers back. After a moment, she adds with a small smirk:” So, did you sleep horribly again, to look as you do?”

 He rolls his eyes. “Repetition is a sign of dull wits, Sigyn. Do try harder.”

 “In my defense,” she yawns, “it is way too early to possess a functional brain.”

 “ Ah, I see,” he says wisely. “It makes sense now.”

 The look she gives him is both amused a wary. “What does?”

 “You decided to use that ridiculously heavy box very early in the morning, and  kept  using it out of sheer pride.”

 “I’ll have you know,” she says with a haughty air, “that it does its task most admirably, and I have never been one to shy away from effort. I do not need a new  box .”

 A pause.

 “I could devise a spell that would make it ten times smaller, with a bigger capacity and infinitely lighter.”

 “ Oh , thank the Norns , I'm getting a new box!".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very Casket-light chapter, but worry-not (or maybe worry lot?) - that creepy blue box isn't going anywhere.


	17. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thanks to my lovely beta, amethyst_uk. This chapter would be riddled with mistakes without her.
> 
> Warning: Heed the tags. This chapter contains sexual touches on a minor, in continuation with the child grooming and abuse present in this fic.

The next couple weeks go by rather quickly. Loki’s days are still very long, filled with duties and classes in preparation of this first diplomatic trip of his. His free time during the day is mostly spent with Sigyn.

He is usually exhausted by the end of the day, and more than content to just sink into his bed and go to sleep. He often does just that, as his usual late-night conversations with the Casket are all but gone now.

In fact, his friend has been increasingly silent these past weeks. First came the absence of the occasional quips mid-conversation, then It would no longer talk to him during day time, until eventually even his nights were lonely.

It is all thoroughly unsettling. The few times Loki manages to engage conversation his friend denied there being any problem at all, yet the situation clearly states otherwise. No matter how occupied he gets during his days, Loki never manages not to see how different things are, years of habit now making him notice every silence or lack of answer.

He does not think of himself as a creature of habit, but he hates this changes, _hates_ how lost he gets in the evening when tasks that were always done by two are now solitary. Hates how he has grown used to fall asleep to the Casket stroking his back or his neck as they talked. His pride keeps him from asking for such things, but he cannot help but wish that It would act on his thoughts like It used to.

That It doesn’t do, not even when Loki has caught himself cursing at It for the situation, which is more than proof enough of his friend’s voluntary retreat. Before this Loki had never been allowed to thinkrudely to the Casket.

He is left mulling over these thoughts as he prepares for that dreaded expedition. His belongings have already been sent in advance to the Jarl’s estate, so all that he needs to do is pack a small traveling sack and dress into his riding attire.

The first one is quickly done, but as he finishes putting on his pants and moves to grab his shirt, he catches his reflection in the long mirror on the wall.

Straightening himself, he walks towards his full-body reflection, surveying it with a critical gaze.

He has some muscle, that cannot be denied, but he has never managed to acquire the same bulk and imposing figure his brother had at his age. He doubts he ever will. The same goes for his skin, still so pale no matter how many hours he spends under the sun - which, admittedly, does not amount to much. Added to his dark hair and green eyes, he cannot say he finds himself unpleasant to look at.

Still, he cannot help but long for bigger muscles or lighter hair, something that would make him resemble his family, his father. Something more warrior-like. He does not regret his choices or his interests, but they have clearly made him ostracized by the majority of Asgard, and he hates that his appearance sets him apart even further. The dark prince in a golden royalty.

_No use for such wishful thinking, alas. I, on the other hand, find your appearance most pleasing._

Loki startles, feeling both a rush of fear at the sudden comment, relief, and finally, irritation. He huffs. “Oh, now you talk?”

The Casket stays silent for a moment. _You are angry with me, yet you have no reason to be…_

“No reason?” Loki sputters. “You have been avoiding me for the past weeks. Barely a word, as if someone had cut off your tongue. Which would be quite an amazing feat, I must say, dismembering a glorified blue box!”

_Loki…_

The voice is full of menace, something Loki should clearly be wary of, but weeks of frustration keep him from stopping. “Oh, but I suppose you will deny everything and anything. Please wait a minute as I try to pretend to believe you. It is quite difficult, you see, seeing as…”

 _Quiet!_ It snaps back, and Loki instinctively winces. _You forget yourself, you are acting like a petulant child. It is an embarrassment._

He can feel his cheeks reddening, anger surging through him, but he pushes it back down before he lets it escape his control. Getting angry with his friend... He never…

His hand instinctively goes to cover his throat as he cautiously articulates a response. “You have barely uttered a word in all of three weeks. Why?”

_Isn’t that what you wanted?_

“Pardon? How…?” He frowns, takes a deep breath. “I never said anything of the sort.”

 _Ah, but true affection implies acting on what goes unsaid,_ it replies reasonably. _I do not need you to vocalize your wishes in order to act upon them._

“I never wanted you to leave,” he protests.

 _No?_   _I had thought… So eager were you to spend time with that girl, and then to abandon me for a whole week…_

“I have to leave, it is a mission from the King and Queen!” The objection sounds weak to his own ears. Perhaps he could have protested more, found some justification to remain in the capital? He bites his lips, but carries on. “And although I wished to spend time with Sigyn, it is by no means a rejection to you.”

 _No? I hold you dear above all else,_ it sighs, voice full of melancholy. _You are nearly all I have. To find that the sentiment is not reciprocated...It breaks my heart._

“But you are wrong!” he blurts out immediately, alarmed at the wave of sadness that strikes him, and then winces violently. Bad choice of words, he knows better than that, what a fool he is! He quickly corrects himself. “I mean, the sentiment is mutual. Sigyn may be a friend, but you were still my first, and that is not so easily erased!”

_Truly?_

He nods hurriedly. “Of course”, he says, his smile as wide as he can manage whilst fighting his nerves. He is all but trembling now, heart clenching in his chest as he wonders if maybe he isn’t being quite convincing enough. The Casket’s delay in answering is none too reassuring.

“I love you,” he adds fervently, because such words have always pleased It before.

 _I am glad,_ it finally says simply, before sighing in contentment. Loki can feel arms wrapping around him, with a hand resting on the middle of his chest, the other one resting on his sides. _More than anything else?_

He smiles in relief. This is an easy answer. “Yes.”

The hand over his chest tightens its grip, pulling him closer towards an imaginary back. It is an odd sensation, no matter how used to it Loki is: his body is registering being held tight, yet there is nothing to be held with or against. He had tried once to experiment with movement, tried walking away whilst it felt like he should be hugged close. The Casket hadn’t appreciated it, had frozen him in place until he relented and let himself be dragged back. With time, he had learned not to try to free himself from such holds.

He allows himself to relax as his friends starts slowly caressing his sides. _Oh Loki, had I a true body to make use of, I would express my love for you so clearly._

He chuckles. “Would you? I do not even let my mother embrace me more than occasionally.”

_Ah, but we are not parent and child now, are we, my boy?_

He does not answer, merely shaking his head fondly. That isn’t truly the point of his comment, but it is an endearing oddity, he supposes. In truth, he is grateful that the voice has never taken on the role of a parent: the power imbalance in such a relationship would have made matters so much harder. Moreover, he doubts someone in that position would have encouraged his little tricks so much, which would have made his days much more -

The hand has moved from his side to his leg, fingers brushing against the inner thigh. His breath hitches as he instinctively tries to pull away. Pointless, of course, since the sensation follows his movement and continues unperturbed, the fingers now stroking slowly. He whimpers.

_Is everything alright, Loki?_

He swallows, once, twice, his cheeks burning. “I…”

 _Am I hurting you?_ His friend’s voice is filled with such concern Loki immediately feels the need to sooth it, and so he shakes his head frantically.

“No!” he protests, for that is true enough. “I just…”

 _Then what harm is there?_ A chuckle follows, as if Loki is just being a silly little child, and he finds nothing to say in response. It is not the first time his words fail him in the presence of the Casket, but now more than ever he wishes it weren’t so, as the ghost fingers stroke higher and higher up his inner thigh and another hand slowly moves downwards, holding him now on his middle abdomen.

He tries to jerk away once more, or at least he thinks he does. But his limbs do not move, and the horrifyingly not-painful sensations continue. He wants it to stop, for reasons he cannot clearly explain, and that is awful, for unless he manages to properly and diplomatically state why he will only hurt the Casket, who doesn’t mean any harm and-

A kiss on his temple. _You are such a sweet boy, my Loki. I am so glad that I found you._

The sentiment is so familiar, had always been so fulfilling… but the usual surge of warmth he feels at such words is dampened by a different kind of warmth altogether, one that rests itself within his lower belly. He can still see himself in the mirror, sees his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open in a silent gasp. He wants to cover his face in shame, but finds his limbs frozen again, so instead he closes his eyes, blocking away the world but not the touches. He can feel the same stir that has plagued his mornings, his body rebelling as the Casket remains oblivious in Its love.

The whole affair feels… good, in some perverse way, and as he starts to harden a part of him wants to lean into the touch, even as he wants his friend to stop, because he is not enjoying this, he doesn’t _think_ he is enjoying this.

Norns, what is _wrong_ with him?

Then, the hands remove themselves all at once, and it ends with one last kiss on his cheek. _You should get ready, Loki, less you be late._

He opens his eyes slowly, as if seeing again would somehow resume the entire affair. But nothing happens, the Casket makes no comment on what just happened, as if there is nothing to comment on. He himself has no words, because how can he get angry at his friend when it is _his_ body that reacted that way to the Casket’s affection?

So he merely swallows, and nods his head shakily.

He doesn’t have time to take a shower. The thought is filled with regret.

As he gets dressed, he tightens his tunic around himself as tight as possible. The fabric hugging his body makes a poor armor, and suffocates him slightly, but he cannot bring himself to loosen it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sigyn is waiting for him on the way to the stables.

“I thought I’d come and laugh at your misery,” she says brightly as he comes forward.

He doesn’t say anything in return, barely glances at her as he walks past without stopping. As he expected, she follows him, completely undeterred. “Oh, stoic now, are you? It is a damn well done impression, I commend you. Alas, weeks of wailing and moaning like a particularly whiny banshee make it less than convincing. Nice try though.”

“Surely, I have not been that bad,” he huffs.

“Surely, you have been,” she replies in a ridiculous imitation of his voice. “I doubt I will survive this Sigyn. It will be a week of torture, Sigyn. Oh please, greatest Sigyn, save me from such torment as I drown in the misery of my existence as a Prince of Asgard!”

“And yet you have done nothing to answer my plea. I thought you more gallant.”

“You can manage very well on your own.”

“Would that I wouldn’t have to.” He sighs dramatically, hand on his chest. “If only my friend did not prove so fickle!”

“It’s just a few days -not a week, Loki, days! - with your brother.”

“Precisely,” he deadpans.

They arrive at the end of the stone and gold hallways that shape the majority of the palace, and onto a path of beaten dirt that leads to the stables. There is straw littering the ground, remnants of the mud that was once clinging to rider’s shoes before falling off. Although this path is regularly cleaned by the stable boys, the horses are taken out daily for several purposes and as such the road is almost constantly dirty. It is of no great importance for him, but Sigyn’s long dress is dragging against the ground, catching all the filth that it comes across.

“You could have bunched it up,” Loki points out, glancing down.

“I could, but then I wouldn’t have any excuse to go change and thus be late to a meeting with the old bat that serves as the envoy from Vanaheim.”

He chuckles. “News from home?”

“Alas, yes.”

“Funny you should be so dreading hearing about your family, yet reproach me for dreading spending a week with mine.”

“First of all, I do not dread hearing from my family, I dread meeting an old witch who constantly looks and acts as if each missive given to her has been rolled into a tube and shoved up her arse,” she corrects. “Secondly, you are free to feel as you like, I merely fail to see what is so awful about your brother.”

He pinches his lips at her words, feeling the familiar surge of jealousy coursing through him.

_Your brother will always be more favored, boy. It’s hardly new, and you do yourself no favors by moaning about it._

“You barely know him,” he says bites out.

His hostility earns him a look, but she makes no comment on it. “You are right, I do not know him personally. I only know what you tell me.”

That is an invitation to share if he has ever heard one, but it is also one he has no desire to take her up on. He looks away towards the stable doors they are approaching, hoping that the embarrassment he feels will not show on his face.

There is nothing much to be said about Thor. He is the first prince, he has already shown promise as a great warrior, he is well-loved by all. He enjoys sparring, obviously enough, and perhaps other things as well. Loki wouldn’t know, Thor seldom seeks out his company. And though Thor has seemed more… _friendly_ these past few weeks that they have had to share many classes, that doesn’t mean they are friends.

Which, of course, suits him just fine. Thor is an oaf, an empty-headed warrior who happens to be skilled enough in hitting things that his lack of a brain goes largely unnoticed. Why would Loki wish to associate himself with him? And even if he did, he is no longer a child, pathetically trailing after his elder brother for scraps of affection that would be hard-earned and short-lasting. He knows better now.

 _You do, but what a struggle it was to get there,_ the Casket sighs. _Honestly, if you had just listened to me from the start, you would have spared yourself so much trouble._

He frowns. By his recalling, he had quickly disengaged himself from his brother, at his friend’s request. In fact… But it hardly matters, he corrects himself. He has neither the time nor the will to engage in an argument, and it is true enough that without his friend’s intervention he would still be making a fool of himself, clinging to his brother. Quite frankly, a few tears and a little pain were a small enough price to avoid such a fate.

“Loki?” Sigyn asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. It occurs to him just then that he must have been staring into emptiness for the past thirty seconds, prompting her to look at him in amusement tinged with worry.

He shrugs, and puts upon a sigh. “As much as it pains me to say so, there is no delaying this.” He points to the stables. “Shall we?”

Sigyn raises an eyebrow, but has enough tact not to comment any further as he opens the door.

“Ah brother, you have arrived!” Thor bellows, making his way towards him with a wide smile. He turns towards Sigyn, bowing and getting a full view of her muddied skirt. He tactfully does not comment. “Lady Iwaldidottir.”

“Prince Thor,” she replies, doing a curtsy of her own.

“Please, my Lady,” Thor says with the golden grin Loki has grown to hate for how charming it is. “No titles. A friend of my brother’s has no need for formalities.”

“Well then, I must insist you call me Sigyn. It would be the greatest of sacrileges for me to cling to such ornaments when the Prince does not.” Oh Norn, the pleasantries, Loki grits his teeth and resists the urge to roll his eyes. Barely two minutes in and he is already looking forward to the end of this week.

“Sigyn, then. I must say,” Thor continues. “I am glad my brother has found you. I was beginning to believe he had no interest in people at all.”

“I do not,” Loki intervenes. “Sigyn is a biglesnipe in disguise.”

“Oh, hush,” she protests in that same affected manner she adopts whenever they are in public. The fact that she still adopts such pretenses in front of his brother is reassuring, a sign that she is not gravitating towards his brother at his expenses (yet). “I would be a griffon, if anything.”

“A large screeching bird?”

“Unrelenting in my search for your destruction should you annoy me.”

Loki whistles. “Such violence, gentle Lady! You ought to make a better impression in front of the prince of Asgard.”

“On the contrary, brother,” Thor chimes in. “The Lady is endearing herself to me with every word.”

Sigyn smirks at him. Loki has the strangest urge to stick his tongue out at her.

His brother chuckles fondly. “I am sorry to cut this conversation short, but we must depart, brother. The horses are ready, we are only waiting for you.”

“Of course,” Loki replies. He turns toward Sigyn with a nod as Thor walks away. “I shall see you in a week, then.”

He is moving to follow Thor when his arm gets caught in a hold. “Stop right there, you antsy idiot.”

Loki cannot help but smile. Sigyn has dropped her affectations, her voice much less high pitched now. No matter how many times he witnessed the transition these past few weeks, it always bring him a great source of satisfaction. That she can switch from one persona to the next so smoothly is highly impressive to him, as well as thoroughly entertaining. “Yes, dear Sigyn.”

She narrows her eyes. “Don’t try to cajole me, you royal brat. You know how much it annoys me.”

“And you know how much your annoyance entertains me,” he replies sweetly.

“Griffon, Loki dear,” she chides.

He chuckles, raising his hands and inclining his head in surrender. Satisfied, Sigyn continues. “You are going to spend a week with your brother, a week you have been dreading for the past month. Every time I’ve mentioned it you scrunched your nose and pinched your lips. It was like you were trying to pass one whole Idunn’s apples through your ass. It was funny.”

“I knew you did that on purpose.”

“My point,” she continues, unperturbed, “is this: Do not go insane and attempt to kill your brother. Not only is it a stupid course of action, but you will be sent to the dungeons for it, thus depriving me of a great source of entertainment.”

“That would be very callous of me.”

“Indeed.” She smiles then, more softly. “I’ll be here when you come back.”

He will deny it until his dying breath, but that reassurance fills him with such warmth and relief, it removes a weight he didn’t know existed until now. He ducks his head slightly to hide his blush. “Will you be counting the days until my return?”

“Probably not.”

“Good. I would have had to find a way to dispose of you otherwise.” He looks up once more, meeting her eyes. For a second, he wonders if he should hug her or pat her shoulder, like he has seen his brother often do with his companions. But the idea does not sit right with him (and he would rather not be touched right now…), so he nods at her instead, with a small smile so that she does not perceive his gesture as coldness. “Goodbye, then,” he says, turning away.

“Have a safe journey, dear friend!” she speaks aloud, returning to her proper intonations. He shakes his head slightly, knowing she did it for his amusement. Without looking back, he puts his foot in the stirrups, pulling himself on the mount.

“Is all well, then, brother?” Thor asks with the same knowing smirk he bore in their father’s study. The mere sight of it is enough to diminish his good mood by half.

He breathes heavily through his nose. “Thor, I am in a somewhat good mood right now. I suggest you do not ruin it by doing anything stupid.” He kicks his horse, sending it in a slow trot. “Like talking.”

He had intended for such a dismissal to shut his brother up, offense overriding whatever foolish need he had to engage in conversation. Alas, it has the opposite effect: Thor’s laugh is loud and boisterous behind him, and the sound of following hooves is soon heard. It is no great nuisance while they are in the capital, as properness dictates that they both keep a measured pace throughout the streets and Thor is too busy greeting the loyal followers that approach him anyway. However, not two minutes after they have exited the final gate his brother gives a kick to his own mount, and thus quickens its pace until they are side by side.

They remain in silence for some time. Loki does his best to stoically look ahead, but it is a hard task. He can feel his brother’s gaze upon him, and from the corner of his eye he can see that Thor isn’t trying to hide his smirk. Dominating that thought is the Casket’s presence, which feels like a weight on both his mind and his chest, as if it were compensating geographical distance by making its mark on him heavier than ever.

The two pressures meld into something thoroughly uncomfortable, making him feel the urge to loosen the shirt he had tightened so much earlier that day. The idea is thoroughly rejected as soon as it crosses his mind though, and he is left stewing in that same unease and frustration.

There is really only one way to cut through it. He turns to glare at his brother. “What?”

Thor, the insufferable buffoon, has the nerve to act surprised. “What is what, brother?”

“I can hear you thinking from here. Your poor head is unaccustomed to being filled with thought, it might add. So out with it.”

Again, Thor is disappointingly unfazed. “You and the Lady Sigyn are quite close, I have noticed.”

Loki turns his head back towards the road, looking pointedly forward. “I find her more tolerable than what can usually be found in Asgard.”

“You mean ‘who’, brother.”

“Who, what, I care not.”

“But you care for _her_.” Again, the smirk is back, the same conspiring look. Thor is teasing, and Loki is not so oblivious as to not know what he is referring to. Still, he refuses to bite.

 “I do not know what you mean,” he grits out.

“Really?” Thor replies, smug. “I was led to believe you were clever.”

“Indeed I am, which is why I have such difficulty following the thought process of idiots.”

This makes his brother frown a little, and stand up straighter still. “You are nervous, Loki.”

“I am nothing of the kind.”

“For your sake, I hope you a right. I have seen more than one horse buck because of a nervous rider,” Thor replies and his smile is back in place once again. He often does that, Loki realizes. His brother is quick to anger (although not today, oddly enough), but also quick to forgive and eager to return to a more light-hearted mood.

Given his mellow disposition today, how hard would Loki have to try to anger him truly? What would Thor do, if that were the case?

 _Sounds fun,_ the Casket says. It comes out as a whisper, the distance already taking its toll on the clarity of their bond. Still, he can feel the amusement radiating from it, making Loki smile in response.

Thor sees it, of course, and misconstrues the meaning entirely. “Finally, your mood brightens,” he says joyfully. “Is the prospect of being thrown off your horse that amusing after all?”

Loki doesn’t try hiding his eyeroll. “Perhaps I was merely imagining it happening to you, and found great joy from it.”

“Ha! You will find, brother, that I am at home on any steed.”

“Of course,” he replies smoothly. “Similar minds get along.”

“If that is the case, then you would have been better on a mule. Your stubbornness would be well matched.”

“Yes, I understood the implication.” He kicks his horse on more time, accelerating the trot.

Thor, of course, follows.

“Care for a race, brother?”

“No.”

“Truly? Then why do you trot so fast?”

The look Loki gives him is filled with disdain. “We are expected at the Jarl’s estate tonight. I do not wish to be late.”

“Perfect!” Thor answers smugly. “If we were to challenge ourselves in speed, we would be there with time to spare.”

Damn him, damn his incessant chatter! For all his past complaints about Thor’s distance and the little care he has for Loki, it had all been much more familiar to deal with. This, though, this is hellish. He does not wish to deal with Thor, with whatever passing fancy he might have developed for Loki at the moment.

He knows better than that.

“I am not interested.”

“Why ever not?” His brother looks absolutely dismayed. “It would be most entertaining!”

“It would be against every sense of decorum,” Loki shoots back, with little conviction and much more weariness.

His brother scoffs, and adopts the most cynical air Loki has ever seen on his face - which, admittedly, is not saying much. “And since when do you care about decorum, Loki? You are making excuses, rather unconvincingly at that.”

_Dear me, if he has noticed your lie then you must be very rattled indeed._

Loki can feel his cheeks redden at both accusations, angry at how he cannot in all honesty refute either of them. “I care since we are on a mission for the king!” he snaps, giving his brother the most livid glare he can muster.

That finally shuts him up, but whatever satisfaction he could take from that is short-lived. Thor has traded his words for that thoughtful look on his face once more. Loki is growing to hate that look. His brother should really restrain from thinking altogether.

And of course, even the silence does not last long. “Are you worried about disappointing Father, then?”

That nearly sends Loki in a coughing fit, as he narrowly escapes choking on his own breath. “What… How in Hel did you come to…?”

He does not even have the composure to finish his sentence, which is of little matter as Thor goes on, ignoring his outburst. “It is indeed the first great responsibility our Father has bestowed upon us, and I to do not desire to fail him. Although perhaps excessive, I understand that your sharp and biting tone may come from your nerves.”

Loki looks at him with wide eyes. “You have no idea what you are talking about.”

His denial is hardly convincing to his own ears, and does nothing against Thor. His brother smiles indulgently at him, apparently convinced that he has properly deciphered Loki’s behavior. “It is nothing to be embarrassed about, brother. Father’s displeasure is a fearsome thing to behold indeed.” Though the words may wish to be reassuring, Loki cannot hear them as anything but filled with condescension. What does his brother know about displeasing the King?

“But you must remember, this is but a small task. We are still young Princes.” That idiotic smile is still in place. “Surely, there is no need for such gloom.”

“You are deluded,” Loki answers, carefully not addressing anything actually said.

Thor chuckles, fondly. “Ah, my brother, always taking matters so seriously. I hope to cure you of that someday.” Riding horses make physical gestures between the two awkward, but Loki has no doubt that if his brother could, he would be grasping him by the back of his neck.

“You worry too much. Our father is not as unforgiving as you seem to think.”

Loki says nothing, resisting the urge to shift in his saddle. It is astounding how Thor manages to be so off mark, yet so astute at the same time. Of course, his brother could not consider that Loki might not wish to associate himself with him, or that he could have a hand in any sort of coldness towards him. It is to be expected when one has only known adulation, Loki reflect bitterly.

However, Thor’s obliviousness has led him to discuss just what Loki did not wish to think about, and say precisely what Loki wishes to hear. And how reassuring the words, too.

Internally, he berates himself. His brother is a privileged fool, favored by all and there is nothing more to it. As for his father...

He clutches the reigns a little more tightly, the well-used leather digging into his hand. He does not want to go down that train of thought.

So he turns back towards his brother, plastering a small smile on his face. “You should worry more, brother,” he says with a small smirk.

“I highly doubt that,” Thor replies, relaxing at Loki’s change of demeanor.

“Oh, I disagree.” Loki forces a grin. “If I were you I would worry about losing that race.”

He then kicks his horse, sending it in a full run. The hooves beat loudly against the ground, yet he can still hear Thor’s joyful laughter over the noise. Barely a second later his brother is chasing after him.

The conversation is blessedly interrupted.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thor won the race, though not by much. Perhaps in other circumstances the defeat would have stung, but Thor has been thoroughly distracted by Loki’s perceived playfulness and has completely lost the mood for open-hearted conversation, so Loki cannot truly muster the energy to care.

He even bears his brother’s gloating during their midday meal, distracting himself by looking around the tavern they have halted at. The owner had been forewarned that the two Princes would be halting in his establishment that day, and apparently has the discretion not to spread the word, or perhaps had been instructed not to do so. Whatever the case, the two are not interrupter during the meal, but are surrounded by hushed whispers of “is that..?” and “did you see…?”

It had all been a vast source of entertainment for Loki, and his amusement had carried out once they had resumed their voyage, riding at a slow pace through city and countryside and walking past villagers that barely spared them a glance. Of course, without all the pomp of their official clothing or the escort that would accompany a larger party, the two of them would hardly be recognizable as princes. Still, even with those rationalizations, Loki couldn’t help but smirk at the knowledge that these people have come across the heir of the Kingdom and his brother without batting an eye.

It takes them a couple more hours to reach the Jarl’s castle, a time spent mostly in silence interspaced with bouts of shallow conversation. Thor stops talking altogether when they are a few minutes away, focusing instead on his posture and his appearance upon entering. He would look regal and solemn, if not for the wide grin he seems incapable of wiping off on most days.

The Castle stands proud in its valley. From the hill the brothers are standing upon, they have a clear view of two high towers that curb slightly inwards, like to wings joining at the tip. Between lies a lower building, joining them into one single building. Unlike the Royal Palace, made entirely out of gold, this residence is mostly made of white marble, with the occasional precious metals placed as embellishment. There are no great defenses guarding this castle, as it is not a stronghold by any means. The walls surrounding the building are more embellished than functional, no doubt in an effort to impress the many Vanir and Dwarves that visit this province.

The two of them enter the gates into the courtyard. The entire affair is mostly silent, the noise of hooves against stone the only sound to be heard for a long time. They go past guards and stewards placed to greet them, riding straight towards the Jarl and his family that are waiting in front of the steps.

As Loki dismounts, he carefully considers them. Jarl Sveid Fenrirson is a large man, long past his warrior years despite the armor he wears, although his training is still visible in his posture and the steel look in his eyes. His greying hair is left loose and neatly combed back, falling shoulder length. Like most Lords his age, he sports a thick beard, although this one is neatly trimmed like the All-Father’s rather than bushy like Volstagg’s.

His daughter Öndóttr looks very much like him, the same square jaw and dark eyes. Her hair is brown, like his might have been once, and she has the same grey eyes. However, where Lord Sveid is wide and bulky, she is long and lean, from her narrow torso to her limbs, which lengths are only accentuated by the clinging sleeves and long skirt of her dress. There is nothing fragile about her though, Loki notes. On the contrary, she seems strong and certain, holding her newborn son, young Magni, in a steady grip.

Finally, Loki turns his eyes towards Gulli Dóttason, who stands a step in retreat compared to his wife and father-in-law. A smart move, considering the current situation, but one he does not seem to be pleased about. His face is slightly pinched in irritation, although he is clearly doing his best to reign it in.

It would be amusing, Loki thinks, if he were ever to lose his temper against Lord Sveid. The patriarch is a veteran, and looks the part, whereas Gulli is… pretty, he supposes. Blond hair with a thin moustache, green eyes and delicate features. Popular among the ladies, probably, but certainly not intimidating.

Lord Sveid steps forward, and bows before the two of them. “Prince Thor, Prince Loki, you honor us with your visit.”

“The honor is ours,” Thor answers.

“You bless us with your hospitality,” Loki adds, a cliché greeting but one that is suitable enough.

The two parties exchange in trite conversation and protocol, before the two Princes are invited to their chambers.

“You must be weary from your travels,” says Sveid. Loki resists the urge to correct him. “Please, my Lords, make yourselves at home in your quarters, there is warm water for you to freshen uo. A servant will come to get you for our welcome feast.”

Loki stifles a groan. The welcome feast, of course. Not to be confused with the celebration feast, which in turn is an entirely different affair from the departure meal. As a child, he enjoyed those celebrations as much as any Aesir. However, he has found that his appetite has diminished considerably with age. Although he is still capable of swallowing enormous quantities of overcooked meat if necessary, the enjoyment has long faded.

He can feel the Casket’s amusement, but there are no words to accompany it. Distance has taken its toll on their bond, there will be no commentary from his friend during this trip. A pity, really: Loki already misses the familiarity of private conversations in his chambers, or even just the constant support.

He still has the emotions and knowledge of its presence within his mind though, and that is comforting enough.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When the time comes to attend the feast, Loki is as ready as he will ever be. Which is to say, not very much.

No matter how many lessons and practice he has had with such events, he has always been in the presence of the King and Queen, and therefore his part has always been lesser. Now though, for the first time he will be the highest ranking individual at that feast, baring his brother of course.

Their seating arrangement reflects this. Lord Sveid sits at the head of the table, as befits the head of the house. Thor is on his right, Lord Gulli next to him. Loki, for his part, is on Lord’s Sveid’s left, his right side occupied by Öndóttr, whose entire focus is on keeping the babe in her arms quiet.

Of course, it would have been much preferable to have the child put to bed at this time, but, well, politics of course. This entire affair is for the heir’s sake, after all.

Loki barely pays attention as the rest of the guests take their seat and Lord Sveid stands to give his greeting to all. Something about princes and the honor they bring, about loyalty to Asgard and deference to the All-Father. He has heard it a thousand times before.

Then Lord Sveid announces the beginning of the feast, and the entire hall fills with noise as conversations begin and people reach for the food. Loki himself just stays put as servants come up to give him the best cuts of meat (although glancing at his brother’s plate, he believes Thor’s helping is slightly bigger than his). He slowly sips on his wine as he tries to compose his thoughts.

“You will accuse me of repeating myself, my Lord,” he says, putting his cup down, “but seldom have I found myself so honored upon entering a household.”

“You are too kind, my Prince.”

“I am sincere.”

But the Lord completely ignores his response. “A young man such as yourself, you should be careful not to give into an excess in kindness.”

Completely taken aback, Loki can only blink. “Pardon?”

The Lord is barely listening to him, too busy mulling over his own dark thoughts. “I have been kind to some you see,” he says in a near-growl, “and recently I have begun to believe that it may have been a mistake.”

Lord Sveid turns to glare at his son-in-law, and Loki has to resist the urge to sigh. Well, considering the trouble Lord Dótta is currently giving him, the resentment is no surprise.

But then the Lord’s expression grows darker still, if that were at all possible. After following his gaze Loki can feel himself grow pale.

Thor, the oblivious oaf, is currently engaged in an animated conversation with Gulli, occasionally bursting out with laughter. Despite the difference in age, the two of them look like good friends already. Of course, Thor has never met a soul he has not managed to be on friendly terms with, and rationally, Loki knows that such a charismatic disposition is a good thing for a prince to have.

Right now, though, he wants to _strangle_ his brother.

Because all Lord Sveid will see is the son of Odin on more than friendly terms with Gulli, who is basically the son of his enemy as matters currently stand. And if the first prince, if _Thor_ is showing favor towards the House of Dótta, then what conclusion will Sveid come to other than the obvious? Thor _knews_ what the goal for this trip was, so how can he be as stupid as to do something that goes directly against it? He had been the first to get outraged over Gulli’s disloyalty!

He should say something, Loki realizes, should distract the Lord from such a sight, but he is at a complete loss as to what he should say. Every word or phrase that comes to mind seems clumsy or obvious. Norns, the last thing he needs is to somehow make things worse.

It would be a joke throughout the Nine Realms, the two princes of Asgard who could not handle such a simple expedition.The thought is both a source of despair and of frustration, because it feels like he should be better than this. He should be able to steer the conversation, he _should_ be able to smooth things over.

But talking to the Casket is one thing, or even to Sigyn, whom he had known for a long time before her arrival in Asgard.

He has no idea how to talk to this stranger with actual importance, has no idea how to charm him or sooth him like he should. He has never done it before.

Not for the first time tonight, he longs to return to his room with only the Casket to keep him company. It is much simpler, much more familiar that way.

A loud cry resonates next to him, interrupting conversations and putting an abrupt stop to Loki’s internal rambling. The babe, Magni, is fussing in his mother’s arms, face red from his crying. Instantly, servants are surrounding the mother and her child, and even Lord Gulli stands to tend to his son.

Thor, mercifully, stays put, and when Lord Sveid’s glare follows his son-in-law as he accompanies his wife outside of the hall, Loki is almost certain that his brother’s fond disposition towards Gulli will be forgotten. For now.

He does not know whether to sigh in relief or moan.

These next few days will be very, very long indeed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the next few weeks are going to be slightly busy for me. I'm going to try to get the next chapter out before September 10th, when I'll be going to Africa for two weeks. So, in case I end up not updating for a while, it not because I have abandoned this story! :)


	18. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... I'm back? Turns out it wasn't just August that had been a busy month. Medical school is time consuming, who knew, amaright...? 
> 
> So, here is a new chapter. It is a very long chapter. I have very complicated feelings towards this chapter. I'll let you be the judge.^^
> 
> My lovely beta hasn't deserted me despite my long +3 months of absence. So all bow down before amethyst_uk! (She also isn't to blame for any formatting problem: that on my computer, which doesn't have Word on it. Let me know if you see any, I'll correct them)

When he wakes up that morning, the first thing he had done check the state of his sheets.

It sounds so shameful, even in his own mind, but he has learned these past few months that his body does not… behave the way he would like. Any incident like the ones he has experienced in his own bed would he too much to bear here, in castle of strangers.

Fortunately, the silk was as pristine as it was last night. Coincidently, or perhaps not, it had been the best sleep he has had in quite some time. Not that that is saying much.

He may not have been afflicted with the same fleeting flashes of unpleasant dreams, but there had still been a general sense of unease in the back of his mind. For some reason, it had made him all too aware of his skin. Once, when he had half-emerged from slumber, he could have sworn there had been molasses covering him.

Of course, such beliefs had been proven false by the light of day, but that did not make him want a shower any less. The scrubbing had helped only a little, but he refused to entertain such foolish perceptions any more than he already has, so he had forced himself to go through his morning ablutions with the same calm routine.

It had all be going fine until he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

This time, it is not the view of his own difference that brings him to discomfort, but the memories of yesterday. He still doesn’t know what to make of them.

Loki is not naive, so he knows what it is he felt. What he doesn’t understand is why. He hadn’t… wanted anything, and the Casket wouldn’t have forced itself. Really, if Loki had told It to stop, surely It would have.

But he hadn’t, because he did not want to hurt his friend, and the whole…. thing hadn’t hurt, so really there hadn’t been any true harm done.

Yet his mind kept replaying the memory, echoes of the feelings coming forth, making his breathing speed up.

With a groan, he turns away and finishes dressing. It does him no good thinking of such things, he had better move on.

Easier said than done.

The memories and confusion follow him throughout the day, in the back of his mind at best, thoroughly distracting him at worst. It makes him impatient and sours his mood, so much so that he cannot bear the different visits and activities offered by his hosts with much of the good grace he is supposed to.

Even now, riding throughout the estate in the company of Gulli and his brother, his mind is elsewhere. The Lord has taken upon himself to make them visit the estate, particularly the Vana-Kvísl.

When trade with Vanaheim and Nidavellir had begun to prosper, a portal linking to the negative space had been built so that merchants would not be on the Bifrost to trade their goods. By having each realm possess a portal giving into the same pocket dimension, trade could be done much faster. Being the longest river in Asgard, the Vana-Kvísl had been used as one of the portal’s natural anchors.

It is the kind of subject he finds fascinating, but before he can ask any additional question, the conversation turns towards hunting and what have been achieved doing so. Thor, of course, is delighted.

Loki, on the other hand, decides right there and then to leave as soon as it is acceptable. Fortunately for him, it does not take too long.

Thor and Gulli extend their outing so that the Lord may show his brother the hunting lands in further detail. Loki declines to follow, presents his deepest regrets but firmly refuses any offer to accompany him back.

More than anything, he wants to be alone.

However, since is the sort of day where nothing goes as he would like, he finds a figure waiting

“My Prince,” Öndóttr greets him as he steps down from his horse. She must have seen him come back from one of the higher floors - either that or she has been standing in the midst of manure for an hour, waiting for them to return.

“Lady Fenrirdottir,” he nods. “I am afraid your husband has yet to return, as he has decided to show my brother the site of his exploits.”

She smiles, although it seems oddly forced to his eyes. “It is of no matter, your Highness, as I had been hoping to speak to you.” She curtsies once more. “If that is not too bold a thing to say.”

Despite his best efforts to keep his face impassive, he knows at least some of his surprise shines through, both ather statement and at her tone, which is perfectly polite yet holds a hint of challenge within. “So long as my time is mine to give, it is yours my Lady.”

“You honor me,” she answers demurely. “Perhaps I shall escort my Prince to his chambers, we may talk along the way?”

He agrees, more out of politeness than anything else. Almost immediately, she lock her arm with his and begins leading him away. Although the distance between them perfectly respects , she keeps an iron grip on his arm. As such, she dictates both the direction and speed of their walk, and he cannot pull his arm away without being exceedingly rude.

The message is clear: the conversation will last for as long as she likes, and he is not going anywhere until she allows it.

A fine trick, he must admit. He’ll have to keep it in mind for further use.

“I must say, I feel as if the Norns have decided to be most kind to me,” Öndóttr begins again. “To be honored by the visit of my Princes, so soon after being blessed with a child.”

“It is a fine son you have,” he compliments in the same detached tone she uses. He doesn’t know yet why she has decide to start with such a trite statement, but he is certain she did not pull him into a private conversation only to marvel at her happiness.

“A fine son from a fine husband,” she adds a little too innocently to be candid. “Did I ever tell you how I came to be married to that man?”

“I am afraid not.” But she most likely will any second now.

“I had my fair share of suitors, as most daughters of Jarls do. My father allowed me to decide for myself whom I shall marry, so long as he was from that pool he had already approved of.” She smiles wistfully in remembrance. “There were many young men to choose from, all warriors, strong, and of noble birth. Yet Gulli is the one who caught my eye. No one truly questioned my motives. I imagine most believed I found him the handsomest of them all.”

“I have often been told that beauty is a consequence of love, and not its cause,” he says blandly, a common witticism that still qualifies as an answer. He should, by all accounts, engage more into this conversation, except that it hardly feels like one at all. It feels more like an ambush, or a hunt; like any moment he may slip and lose, somehow.

It is rather thrilling, if he is perfectly honest. However, if this is a game, then Öndóttr is much more experienced than he is. And so he is reduced to not playing at all, containing himself to banalities and empty phrases.

The lady makes no particular comment, but there is a quick look in her eyes, a flash of something that looks like...approval? But that makes no sense...

“I married him because he was unambitious,” she confesses, if that is the proper word at all. There is no hesitation, no shame at all in her voice. “Or rather, he had hopes and dreams when it came to battle and glory, but very little in politics. It suited me well; there is little more likely to ruin the stability of a family than misplaced ambition.”

Those words sting him, somehow, even as he tries so stay on the situation at hand.

“Ambition is something that can be found later in life,” he says more forcefully than necessary to override his own thoughts. “Some would call it a quality.”

“My husband has many fine qualities, loyalty to the House of Odin being chief among them.”

Of course, Loki had known that this would be no leisure talk, but only now does he have a clear idea of what it is she wants. “His loyalties have never been in question,” he answers smoothly. “Lord Gulli is well known for his sense of honor and duty.”

“The greatest duty of any Aesir is to serve the word of his king. And his, ah, word must always be obeyed.”

It is a common maxim, one of the many that weapons instructors and old warriors drone out. Loki had always found it irritating, as it is almost systematically parroted back by brainless trainees. Here though, it takes on a whole new meaning, one than means both power and respect.

“The King is absent, my Lady. His duties have sadly kept him from congratulating you himself.” He smiles lightly as if his next comment will be a jest. “Perhaps you will satisfy yourself with the words of the Princes?”

There is a gleam of approval in her eyes, one that makes Loki positively preen inside. “Perhaps, if the princes are well-spoken enough.” She squeezes his arm.

Perhaps years of deciphering the Casket’s wishes or trying to understand just what his father wants from him have made him more prone to understanding what goes unsaid; whatever the case, the message seems quite clear to him.

Take a stand, and do it verbally. Symbolic actions will not suffice here. If you state your intentions clearly, then none will be able to ignore them.

She squeezes his arm, and when she speaks again her expression has softened. “I realie you must find this difficult, and I am sorry to ask this of someone so young, but this duty can only be done by a prince.”

It takes lot of effort not to stiffen.

Is she patronizing him? He may be younger than her, but he has still lived for a quarter of a millennia. That is more than enough time to acquire at least some life experience!

Is she pandering him, some sort of reassurance given to someone you expect to fail? He is smart enough, certainly more qualified than Thor, can manage this!

Or perhaps that is what she wants. Provoking, making him believe she doesn’t expect much of him, only to make him want to impress her. That in turn almost makes him want to not interfere, if only to spite her, or to see just what would happen. To show her that he will not be made a fool of.

However, this is an all-but-official mission, granted by his parents, by his father.

Considering that, there is really only one thing Loki will do.

“Our tutors have found little to complain about when it comes to our eloquence,” he replies smoothly. That much is true for Loki, atleast; if it is true for Thor, he suspects it is because his tutors have considerably lowered their standards. “I believe Lord Fenrirson will as well.”

She nods once more, looking at him with both seriousness and something he believes might be respect, or at least consideration. It takes great effort to suppress the smiles that is coming to his lips.

“I have no doubt in my princes’ eloquence,” she says pleasantly, before pulling them to a stop. Turning towards Loki, she lets his arms go. Looking around, he realizes they have stopped just in front of the hallways leading to his room.

“I apologize, my Prince, but there are duties I must attend to before the feast tonight.” The Lady curtsies. “With your permission, I will leave you here.”

Loki nods once. He wonders, briefly, what would happen if he were to insist that she come along with him, but that would be a foolish and pointless power-play. “Of course, my Lady.” He bows forward slightly. “I shall see you tonight.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The night, of course, came much too soon.

It is a paradoxical thought; Loki has spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of trepidation combined with tremendous boredom. There had been nothing for him to do, apart from wait and try to imagine just what he would do or say when the time came.

Loki had been aware that there would be tension within the household; his brother and he wouldn’t have been sent here if there weren’t. However, Lord Fenrirson’s glare as well as Öndóttr’s intervention have made it clear that the House of Sveid is taking this matter extremely seriously, more so than Loki had imagined. It does make sense in retrospect, as although to him this is a squabble between two houses of the province, for this family it is an entire legacy that is at stake.

Which only serves to make him wonder just what in Hel’s name were his parents thinking, sending the two of them.

Thor is an oaf, blundering and blind and foolish, who is as suited for diplomacy as a bull. Loki doubts his brother is even aware of the reason why they are here, apart from promises and honor and whatever other reason Thor has given his friends for his departure. “It is a small task,” he had said. What an idiot.

Then again, Father and Mother wouldn’t have sent the two of them on anything of importance, not so soon. So what does it say about him that what everyone thinks as a formality, he himself sees as a daunting task? The idea that he could fail, that he could somehow ruin all this weighs heavily on his mind, squeezes at his heart, so much so that Loki is surprised he is still breathing as smoothly as it is.

Perhaps this is a test of some sort? A seemingly easy assignment, to see how seriously the Princes take their duty? In that case, Loki is certain to do well.

Unless of course their will be made based on some other criteria Loki is yet unaware of.

Groaning, he pinches the bridge of his nose. His restlessness is growing, endless options and possible traps surging through his mind. In a normal situation, he would have reasoned out loud, asked the Casket for advice. He cannot now, and it makes him feel more alone than ever.

Tentatively, he reaches through the bond in his mind. He almost never does this; sometimes his friend reacts kindly to such an act, but more often than not It would snap at him to go back.

_I cannot constantly cater to your needs, Loki! I am already by your side more often than not, must you also invade my mind on top of everything else?_

Still he tries, and the answer he gets his both slight impatience and reassurance. It makes him feel grateful.

A knock on the door, and before he has time to respond, his brother enters. “Are you ready, Loki?”

“As much as I will ever be,” he sighs in response, both in dread of what is to come and irritation at his brother for not waiting for Loki to allow him in. “Which is to say that the clothes I have brought along are indeed on my back, and my hair is combed back in a way our mother will surely approve of. The rest is out of my hands.”

Thor rolls his eyes, making him look very similar to Loki for a moment. “You speak as if the worst of trials is before us, rather than a simple feast like we are now used to.”

“Being used to them hardly means that I enjoy them.”

“You might find more to like if you deigned to speak to someone during them.”

“Why would I?” Loki bristles at the criticism, his voice turning sharp and biting. “There has never been anyone worth speaking to.”

“Not true,” Thor answers quickly, “Sif, Fandral and Hogun have been attending every one for some time now.”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

Loki watches with some satisfaction as Thor processes the insult, his face turning red from righteous anger. Any second now his brother will start defending his friends’ reputation and character, blubbering through an awkward tirade.

Such a sight has only grown more pleasing throughout the years.

And indeed his brother’s mouth parts open, his cheeks already slightly pink. Loki’s own mouth opens slightly as well, as if in preparation for whatever Thor will say next.

But then his brother breathes through his nose, and the tension in his shoulders is forcefully released. “It is true that the Lady Sigyn has yet to attend a feast with you.”

“What has that have to do with anything?” Loki snaps.

“The two of you get along well,” Thor keeps on going patiently, “I believe the feasts will not be so tedious for you if you have her at your side.”

Loki slowly licks the inside of his lips, hesitatingly considering his brother’s words. The conversation is not evolving the way he thought it would. However, he will not be the fool who loses his temper first. “Perhaps,” he agrees mildly.

His mind drifts to Sigyn and just how things would be like if she were with him. Probably she would force him to get along with Thor, if only for her own sake. There would be a lot of cursing involved. Towards everyone.

The mental imagine of Sigyn swearing the House of Sveid into submission springs up, and he cannot help but snort at the thought. Sigyn, cheeks pink from the effort, Lord Sveid with his mouth part open in shock. There is no sound linked to the picture in his mind, leading him to imagine the entire room, including the baby, being stunned into silence. It makes him chuckle even harder.

Oh yes, he rather wishes she were here. He would have much more fun then.

Thor smiles at his sudden change of mood. “Whatever thought you have just had, I suggest you hold onto it. You seem much brighter already.”

“I am,” Loki agrees, small grin still in place. His brother smiles back.

Loki sobers up quickly, clearing his throat. “We should go,” he says, keeping his voice cool and bland.

He doesn’t wait for his brother before heading towards the door, but he doesn’t miss how Thor’s lips twitch downwards as he walks by.

They only have to walk for a few steps down the hallway that leaves from both their rooms before they come across the servant charged with leading them to the grand hall. There are bustling through the halls, all trying to rush to set the final touches while not damaging the embroidered uniforms they wear for the occasion. Among all that organized chaos, this young boy had been tasked to stay put in that one corner until the princes were ready to leave.

Loki doesn’t know if he got the better or worst deal, but whatever the case, the boy lets nothing show. With a quick and cordial bow, he greets the two of them before inviting them to follow him through the halls.

It is a strange experience, because although Loki is no stranger to such celebrations and protocol, it is the first time he attends one outside the palace, his home. For all the codes and etiquette he has to follow during the banquet, he is only in the public eye so long as he is in the grand halls. In the small hallways and corridors, he can allow himself to be much more relaxed.

Here though, he is already being watched. There are only maids, butlers and attendants around, but they can speak just like any nobleman or woman, and he just knows that any misshape on his part will quickly become known to all.

The knowledge sets him on edge, and he resists the urge to clutch his clothing tighter around him. A quick glance towards his brother shows that Thor is apparently unaffected by it all. The sights only makes his mood fowler.

Looking straight ahead, Loki grits his teeth and tries to keep his face composed.

Their small party arrives through the main entrance, large gates made out of bronze covered in abstract carvings embellished with gold, the entire color scheme complementing the slightly yellow tinge of the marble walls. Upon entering, Loki notices that the interior of the room had been rearranged: the central table reserved for the family and guests of honor is still there, but the remaining seats have been moved around so as to form a slight curve, giving full view to the middle of the main table. All will be able to look upon the new heir.

“Announcing Thor Odinson and Loki Odinson, sons of Odin All-Father and Princes of the Realm!” the herald speaks, effectively interrupting the low conversation held by the guests that had already arrived. They all bow respectfully. Thor grins wide, saluting the room in grand gestures and exuberance. Loki, for his part, nods once, before the two of them are ushered towards the high table.

The seating arrangement reflects such exceptional circumstances: Lord Sveid has surrendered his seat as head of the table, instead sitting on his daughter’s right. Lord Gulli is one seat over on her left. The true center of the table is occupied by a crib, the boy of honor happily babbling within. Loki has no doubt the babe will be put to bed long before the end of the night, but for now his parents seem delighted in showing him off. (Although perhaps not as much as Lord Fenrirson, whose stern countenance completely melts away when he looks upon his grandson. It hardens again when he raises his eyes to see his son-in-law.)

As eldest, Thor takes his seat directly to the left of Gulli, and Loki next to him.

Like this he is rather far away from the head of the table, he cannot help but notice.

The remaining guests fill the room shortly after, mainly friends and nobility. The princes excluded, the center table is reserved for family. A girl sits next to Loki, some cousin or another.

He notes with some amusement that Lord Dotta, Gulli’s father, has been kept as far away from his son as possible.

For a few moments, the room is filled with the sound of scraping chairs and mumbled greetings interspaced with the herald announcing guests as they arrive. Once everyone has been seated, three loud bangs resonate throughout the hall, effectively halting all conversations.

Loki takes a moment to be silently grateful that the sudden noises haven’t caused the baby to start crying.

All turn towards the head of the table, awaiting the speech that will come before the beginning of the feast. Öndóttr is the one to rise, an obvious move to show which of the two houses reigns supreme in this affair.

Gulli does not give any further reaction that a nod to his wife. From the corner of his eye, Loki can see Lord Dotta glaring at his son.

“My friends,” Öndóttr starts, her poised voice filling the room entirely, “I speak on behalf of my husband and myself when I thank you for joining us today.

“The Norns have smiled upon us, and given us a healthy, strong son. The first of many, if my father has his way,” she adds with a smirk, causing the room to erupt in polite chuckles. “But before we plan the future, we celebrate the present!”

On cue, Gulli stands as well, a carefully picks up Magni from his crib. Handing him to his mother, he looks upon him with a proud smile.

Öndóttr smiles as well, before turning back towards the room. With her son cradled securely in her arms, she puffs up her chest, as if to get him that much closer to all the witnesses gathered.

“Hail, Magni Gullison!”

The entire room cheers, some bang their silverware against the golden tables.

Loki is very glad the child still isn’t crying.

The crowd settles down, food is brought out and everyone begins to eat. Occasionally, some men and women will stand and personally give their compliments to the happy parents. Goblets are filled, and Loki notes with some surprise that his own glass is filled with undiluted ale.

He takes a polite sip before placing it back down as far from himself as he can. Loki generally refrains from drinking, as the Casket always reminds him of his weak constitution. Alcohol sickness is not an uncommon affliction among youth his age, but he himself always seems to have more violent symptoms than the norm.

It wouldn’t do to reveal another one of your frailties, his friend had insisted, so Loki had forced himself to no longer partake anymore than what was polite. The result in most cases was being the sole wholly sober man among his peers, a position that is fun enough when he plan mischief on those impaired, less so when he must behave like a proper Prince.

Glances towards Thor throughout the meal reveal that his brother does not feel the need for the same caution.

“You enjoy our food, my Prince Loki?”

He resists the urge to sigh. Since the beginning of the meal, he has been made to endure small talk with his neighbor, Thrud. The girl is nice enough, he supposes, but seems mostly awestruck at being seated next to a Prince, even said Prince isn’t Thor. He has no true desire to talk to her, and only does so because now is not the time to be rude.

“It suits my palate greatly,” he answers, turning towards her, “and moreover such hospitality deserves to be honored.”

She giggles, tucking a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear. “I had been looking forward to this celebration. Such joyful times we live in.”

He nods. “Indeed. You must be happy to have a younger cousin to add to your family.”

“Oh, yes, that as well,” she says, like an afterthought. “But I confess, what I admire above all is the love between Öndóttr and her husband. I have never seen a marriage with such bliss!”

Loki resists the urge to snort.

“I can only hope to be as fortunate as my cousin!”

“Yes, we all aspire to marital bliss,” he answers distractedly. If the Casket were able to speak to him, no doubt it would have a few choice comments.

Thrud turns to face him even more, leans forward. Batting her eyelashes, she smiles. With an almost conspiratorial look, she opens her mouth to speak some more.

A loud laugh coming directly from his left prevents her from uttering a word.

“Twenty!” Thor exclaims, slaming the table to emphasize his words. “Surely you jest!”

“I would never lie to my Prince!” Gulli replies in mock offense. “There were twenty warriors that night, on my honor I swear it is true!”

“And you defeated them all single handedly?!”

“Well, not quite,” the Lord amends. “My uncle joined me after the third fell, and the battle finished quickly with his aid.” He smiles at the memory. “He was most valiant, even in his old age. A true warrior. Everything I hope for my son to become.”

“I do believe the Norns have smiled upon you then.” Thor’s smile is nothing if not genuine.“Your son is strong and healthy! There is no doubt he will be a credit to you and your blood!”

Loki is going to kill him.

He is going to kill him, because truly? Again? Did he not notice the death glares coming from his host yesterday?

Obviously he didn’t, just as he obviously hasn’t realized that he all but affirmed that the child is part of Gulli’s family, of the House of Dota.

Loki risks a glance towards Lord Fenrir, who looks absolutely livid, even as the two just happily prattle on.

Gulli doesn’t even raise a token’s protest. Either he is pleased with this development, or his lack of ambition makes him as clueless as Thor when it comes to political manoeuvres.

The second option more likely; Loki doubt Öndóttr would not notice her husband working against the interests of her house.

Speaking of, she is currently looking at hi with pinched lips, pointedly not looking at him.

Obviously, she expects him to intervene somehow. It isn’t fair though, because he isn’t even two hundred and fifty years old yet, so it shouldn’t be his job to do anything.

Except that it is, because he is as Prince, and it is what Father and Mother expect of him. Thor as well, but it doesn’t matter if he fails because he is loved well enough that he will be forgiven. Loki doesn’t, and if people believe that he cannot do anything right, then he will be ruined!

He has to do something, now, has to cut off his brother short. Lord Gulli will probably be displeased, but then again it’s not as if Loki will be losing his regard any.

He does not have a plan, though; at least, nothing that goes beyond “stop Thor from saying another word”. So really, he feels like he cannot be blamed for saying the first thing that came to his mind that wasn’t a variant of “shut up Thor!”:

“My brother is correct, Lord Gulli.”

Loki’s voice is much louder than it should be, successfully catching both his fool’s brother and the Lord’s attention. Unfortunately, it also catches Lord Fenrirson’s, and the old man has now transferred his ire onto him. Like that, he looks distressingly like Father, with a glare that could make hardened warriors shift on their feet in unease.

Loki wonders if it is a skill known only to old men.

Then he catches Öndóttr looking at him, and it is a keen reminder that not only can daughters of the old men be just as intimidating, but that he also had better find a way to land on his feet with this.

“Your prowess do speak well for the future of your child,” he continues as his mind races. “In fact, I dare say that the son of two such parents can only be destined for great things.” He smiles. “It seems the House of Sveid will continue as strong as ever.”

After another pause he pointedly looks back to his plate, continuing to eat as if his entire intervention had been completely casual. The room in turn keeps on talking like nothing happened.

He risks a glance towards Öndóttr. She still isn’t looking at him.

Thor and Gulli are still talking, but Loki’s intervention has successfully moved the topic from Gulli’s family to the feats of Lord Fenrir.

Loki doesn’t know if he should feel disappointment or victory.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Come on, you idiot,” Loki hisses as he steadies his brother for the tenth time, “we’re almost there.”

“I am fine, Loki,” Thor snaps back. “And perfectly aware of how to get back to my chambers.” 

“Really? Is that why I found you heading straight for the stables?”

“I was going to look over the horses!”

“Oh, for the love of….”

Another stumble forward caused by his brother’s weight prevents Loki from finishing what would have been a very long stream of curses indeed. He grunts, hand groping blindly on the side to find the wall, and almost cries out for joy when he feels the heavy wood of the door beneath his palm.

With the peak of determination that comes with being so close to one’s goal, he coaxes Thor into stepping in the room before nudging him towards the bed.

Victory has seldom tasted so sweet.

“Norns, you are in a terrible state,” he grumbles, rolling his shoulders backwards to shake of the remaining tension. “Have you always been such a poor drinker?”

That, perhaps, is not entirely fair, but Loki is not in a generous mood. While the feast had been pleasant enough in the beginning, it had quickly turned sour once the mead started flowing.

This particular feast was pure celebration, so the alcohol had flowed abundantly and heavily. Thor had merely followed the rhythm of the grown Lords, who had all been delighted by how bright and boisterous their Prince was behaving. His brother had endeared himself to many that night, Loki is sure.

Perhaps he should have left the oaf wander towards the horses; in a fairer world he would have suffered some embarrassment.

“You should be able to do the rest on your own. I’ll take my leave.” he states, determined to make that even in this state, his brother will understand that there will be no discussion.

His efforts prove in vain.

“No, brother stay!” The ridiculous oaf’s voice has turned into a high pitch whine. If Loki were less ill-inclined he would find some resemblance other than to a starving mut, but right now the comparison seems fitting.

“You are deep in your cup, Thor, and very much so,” he snaps, determined not to engage in witless conversation. “You speak nonsense.”

“Not true.” Thor’s looks of childish affront quickly shifts into one of grudging admission when he starts swaying without Loki to help him balance. “Or perhaps, yes, I have indulged, but not to take away my senses so much as give me courage.”

Loki raises his eyebrow. The mead has destroyed what little sense his brother had early in the night, for him to speak such nonsense.“Oh? The mighty, brave Thor, frightened of his brother?”

“Frightened no, but cautious.”

That pulls a bark of laughter out of him. “You have never been cautious in your life.”

“Well then, never have I had the opportunity to speak with my distant brother.”

“You have had plenty opportunities during the years,” Loki snaps, clenching his fists at the accusation. “I have hardly been hidden.”

His brother turns contrite. Drunkenness has made him prone to tears it seems, for there is a suspicious shine in his eyes when he speaks again. “Yes, I know, always with your books, or in your chambers… Mother said…”

Loki blinks. “Mother?” What does she have to do with this?

“Aye. She advised me to wait, to be patient…” He startles, eyes focusing on Loki one more. “I have been patient, have I not?”

“Patient for what, brother?” Loki asks, for the first time since the beginning of this conversation truly curious as to what the answer might be.

Thor opens his mouth to respond, but gets distracted along the way. By what, Loki has no clue. “How fares the Lady Sigyn?”

Loki closes his eyes in irritation at the new subject, but answers all the same. “How should I know, Thor? I have not seen her since we left.”

“But the two of you spend so much time together…” His brother mumbles, displeased, although if it is by the dryness of Loki’s tone or something else, Loki cannot say.

“Well, we aren’t now,” the dark-haired prince points out, not too kindly. He rolls his eyes. “You are clearly too drunk for conversation.”

Thor keeps on pouting, completely ignoring him. “Unfair.”

“Thor,” Loki sighs, “I…”

“That you should spend so much time with her, yet not with your brother…”

His brother’s tone is so petulant, so very reminiscent of a fifty year old child that Loki doesn’t know whether to laugh or be irritated. Irritation wins out as Thor continues to pout, grumbling about brothers and friends and how Sigyn is a thief…

Understanding hits him then. He can feel his eyes widen as a startled gasp escapes him. Surely not? That would be too great an irony! “Are you jealous, brother?” The idea seems so ludicrous he cannot help but chuckle incredulously, yet even as he does he is certain he is correct.

“Jealous? No…” Thor denies quickly, and absolutely unconvincingly. Even in his addled state his seems to realize this, for he amends quickly. “Or perhaps...Mother worries, that much I know f. She advised me to seek you out, she me that it is common for brothers to have different interests, and that I should not be concerned that you do not share mine.”

Loki pinches his lips. “Ah, I see. So it is not Thor’s words I hear, but those of the Queen through your mouth.” There is a stab of hurt, one that he pushes down viciously. What else did he expect? It was a sudden change, Thor going from ignoring him to seeking out his company. This way, everything makes more sense. “Well, rest assured”

“All of our wishes, brother!” In his vehement denial, Thor has stumbled back up, trying to grab Loki. The younger prince stepped back though, and the lack of support is enough to send his brother falling back on the bed once more. It does little to stop him. “Mother would have us close. I would have us companions. Father…” Thor hiccups, and just like that loses that final thought. “I want you there, brother!”

Loki has always prided himself in his resolve, but at his brother’s pathetic whine he can all but feel it shatter. Anger and defiance, crumbling under the weight of… of flattery.

He feels flattered that Thor would want him, that Thor is the one chasing after him and not the other way around. It fills him with warm glow, a deep satisfaction that makes his pinch lips shift into a small smile, almost a smirk.

Thor, the golden prince, asking for him. The irony is oh so great, almost too good to be true. But Thor is too deep in his cup, and has never been that good a liar besides.

Mere moments ago he was ready to leave in a huff, but now…. Now he just has to know, to push...“And I suppose my wishes do not matter?” he asks, holding his breath for an answer.

“Don’t you wish to be my brother?” The thought almost drives Thor to tears. “I love you so much, do you not love me as well?”

The accusation cuts his irritation short. “I… Of course I do, Thor…. It’s just…”

No, no, that is the wrong answer, he knows that. There is only one way to respond to that question.

_(Do you not love me, Loki-mine?)_

“I love you, truly I do,” he hears himself answer, words coming out almost out of habit. Then he remembers that it is Thor he is talking to, so that means he can… “I am merely saying that adventuring all the time….”

“Do you not wish for it as well?” His brother’s face is truly incredulous. “We would fight battles, bring glory unto our house together! You would be by my side, my companion, and people will sing songs of Thor and his brother! What more could there be desired?”

“Many things, actually,” he deadpans, trying to push away the fragility he felt just moments ago. It isn’t all that successful, but at least his voice doesn’t shake.

“Oh brother, if only you would accept, you would make me the happiest man in Asgard!”

Oh, how unfair of his brother! How low!

How can he say no now?

Loki has never seen his brother plead, not truly, but this is a close to it as he has ever seen. He doesn’t know how much the mead is to blame, and in all honesty, he cares little. His brother wants him, and the picture he paints is appealing, that much cannot be denied.

As much as he knows he will never receive it, Loki cannot help but long for Asgard’s esteem. The Casket had often berated him for it, both exasperated by Loki’s weakness and hurt that he would seek elsewhere what his friend already gives him. Yet try as he might to heed the Casket’s words, his brother’s speech feeds a part of him that feels so shamefully starved.

The desire to be wanted.

Thor looks at him pleadingly, and Loki can feel a thrill coursing through him, though he tries to temper his reaction. Guilt rears its ugly head, for while Thor wasn’t there the Casket was, and he hates to imply that his friend wasn’t enough, when it has been his sole friend for so long.

But Thor is still looking at him, and Loki cannot bring himself to say the refusal he knows he should give.

“I...I shall think about it,” he says, trying for a compromise. The pang of heavy disapproval he receives from the Casket nearly makes him wince. Perhaps that had not been the choice.

But Thor’s face brightens so completely, he cannot bring himself to take those words back.

Hopefully, things will not be too bad when he returns to his friend.

“Oh, brother, you shall not regret it!” Thor says, getting up. “I assure you, with you by my side we…” His enthusiasm makes him stumble, and he falls back on the floor, barely managing to catch himself with his hands.

“Time for you to sleep, I believe,” Loki sighs. “You will need it for our tomorrow.” He turns back to the door, one hand on the handle before addressing Thor one last time. “I would help you get into bed, but you seem coordinated enough to manage on your own, so I will give you your privacy. I would wager that you will be grateful for the thought tomorrow.”

Thor’s answer is an indistinct mumble muffled against the floor. Loki takes that as an acquiescence.

Good, because he has had more than enough conversation for the night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Perhaps proof that the Norns have at least some mercy to give, the overabundance of alcohol that had been the cause of Loki’s woes the night of the feast became his saving grace the day afterwards. His brother, as well as most of the guests at the feast, suffered from the inevitable drawbacks of getting so thoroughly drunk, and therefore spent most of the morning either sleeping or moaning in bed. They hardly fared better in the afternoon, and so the day went by with everyone being quiet out of consideration for their neighbor’s plight.

As such, Loki spent the next day in familiar solitude. He had wandered through the halls early in the morning, poor sleep once again to blame for his early rising. At some point he had found his way to library; it was less grand than the one in the palace, of course, but still well-furnished, enough for him to spend the next two or three hours reading about enchanted weapons.

He manages to keep himself from thinking about Thor’s drunken rambling, something he is more than grateful for.

Asgard is still Asgard though, Princes are still in attendance, and it wouldn’t do to send away all those guests so soon, so dinner is held in the grand hall again. It is a much more quiet affair compared to the evening.

The seating arrangement has once again changed, meaning that Lord Sveid is the head, but this time he is flanked by his daughter and son-in-law. This means that Thor’s neighbor is Öndóttr now, a fact that Loki is only too grateful of.

The evening went by relatively smoothly. Thrud had been on Loki’s left again; her conversation hadn’t improved since, he was sad to note.

Also, she leaned in too close. He didn’t like it.

Fortunately, Thor had quickly joined the conversation, and of course, Thrud eagerly abandoned the second Prince in favor of the mighty Thor. The two of them talked over him the entire evening, while he was pressed against the back of his chair, sipping on his drink or occasionally picking at his plate.

Such fun.

But now, fortunately, it is over, and Thor hasn’t caused any diplomatic crisis. (Not for lack of trying.) They are getting ready to leave, their horses already prepared for them. A few servants had been sent ahead of time with their belongings, so the return trip will be done in the same conditions as the first.

The farewells are done surprisingly quickly, the lack of any true attachment to these people allowing for short and formal statements. Thor does grin at Lord Gulli and the man smiles in return, but Loki is willing to overlook that.

He hopes that Öndóttr’s smile to him will be more genuine than the one she gives to Thor, but try as he might he cannot see anything more than the same respectful politeness.

His heart sinks a little.

The two princes ride off shortly after, Thor ahead of him for a while as Loki purposefully keeps his mount slower, pretending to look at the scenery.

However, his brother once again proves himself more than Loki thought possible for him, and slows his own pace until they are both riding side by side.

“Relieved Brother?”

Glancing to the side, Loki cocks an eyebrow.

“The celebration has come and gone, and everything went smoothly,” Thor continues. “I thought the knowledge would lift the weight that has burdened your shoulders these past days.”

Loki honestly doesn’t know just what tips him over the edge. If he had to guess, it would be that idiotic grin on that oaf’s face after these five miserable days where nothing went right, and the utter cluelessness behind it.

“Everything went smoothly?” he scoffs, full of condescension. “Yes, you would think that. Perhaps the ale has damaged your brain more than I thought?”

“You are being dramatic, again brother, you…”

“No, Thor, I am being realistic. I am being practical!” Loki seethes. “Honestly Thor, what were you thinking?!”

“Do not speak to me as if I were an idiot,” Thor rumbles. His face reddens at Loki’s answering snort. “I was doing the same as you, showing support to Lord Fenrirson’s case…” 

“By fawning over his son in law?!”

“Why ever not?” His brother’s voice raises in a combination of perplexity and defensiveness. “We were there to stand by the House of Sveid, which Lord Gulli is now a part of!”

“In name only!”

“No, in truth! An agreement has been made between the families. It is not our place to question it!”

“Are you willfully blind? Or just that much of an idiot?” Loki hisses. “Have you somehow managed to spend days within Lord Sveid’s house and not look at him once? Trust me, brother, Gulli is more an extension of his father to that man, and no amount of pretty words will change that fact!”

His brother’s face reddens, either in embarrassment or in anger. “No matter what Lord Fenrirson may feel…”

“What he feels is almost all that matters! If he feels like the royal family is in line with Gulli, and therefore his father, then either he gives up the rights to the child, feeling slighted and angry,” he pauses, willing that to sink in, “or he gets angrier, acts rashly, and what should have been an easy mission ends in disaster!”

“You speak of nothing,” Thor snaps, turning his head away to further dismiss Loki. “You see wickedness and ill intent everywhere, it is no wonder….” his voice trails off before he finishes, and he quickly lowers his gaze as if in shame.

Not that it matters, because Loki has a fair idea of what his brother had meant to say.

“It is no wonder I am friendless? Is that it?” Loki sneers. “You are right Thor, I must be so repulsive that everyone must flee me like dwarvish boils.”

“Loki…”

“Poor Sigyn doesn’t know any better, but then again she is a foreigner. How long do you think until she comes to her senses?”

“Stop it!”

“Why?” he snarls. “You were always so ill-spoken, brother. I am merely helping you put your thoughts into words.”

His brother’s mouth opens mutely, his face fluctuating between anger, frustration and maybe some regret. Thor closes his eyes, purposefully exhaling through his nose. “I do not wish to fight.”

“Well, it might be a little late for that.”

Thor clenches his jaw, and Loki imagines he can hear the teeth grinding together. “I did not mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Hurt my…?” Loki forces out a laugh, putting as much disdain in the sharp as possible. “Oh, Thor, you sentimental buffoon! You think I care?” He shakes his head. “My situation is exactly as I intend it to be. Do you think I want to associate myself with those brainless brutes? No more than five minutes in their company and I would find myself wishing for sweet death.” He looks at his brother straight in the eyes with as much venom as he can muster. “I do not care about their friendship.”

But again, Thor displays more patience than Loki has ever witnessed in all these years, and only looks back with slightly sad eyes. “If that is the truth, brother, then why do you react so violently?”

The question hits Loki like a ton of bricks, making him flinch and recoil. He can feel his mouth parting open, his eyes widening, and even though he quickly manages to school his face into a mask of indifference, he knows there is no way his brother missed his reaction.

He turns away, cheeks burning from humiliation.

Thor says nothing for a while, obviously trying to be considerate.

Loki’s cheeks burn even hotter.

Eventually, he hears an awkward hum from behind him. “What I said that night….”

Loki doesn’t say anything. The lack of response is also a lack of objection, allowing his brother to continue. “I meant it.”

“Did you?” He keeps his voice flat.

“Yes.” The silence turns awkward, as Thor is obviously struggling to put his thoughts into words. Loki does nothing to help him. “Our relationship is not as… close as it could be. I would change that… if you would as well?”

“Why?” His eyes never stray from the horizon, even as his grip on the reigns tighten. “There is nothing wrong with the way things are now.”

“That isn’t true.” There is a strain in Thor’s voice, like he is purposefully trying to keep his voice calm when he wants to raise it. For once, though, Loki doesn’t think the reason behind that is anger. “We are brothers, Loki, but it cannot be said that we act like it. I have only seen less and less of you these past fifty years, to the point that we are almost strangers. It is not right.”

“Are those your thoughts, or Mother’s?” He doesn’t bother turning back to glare at his brother, the accusation in those words is evident enough.

Thor sighs. “She does worry, and she did come to me with her concerns. But really, do you think she could make me do this if I did not want to? Well, I suppose she could…”

Loki ignores that attempt at a joke, finally looking back at Thor to see a hesitant smile dissolve under his cold glare. “You were never eager for my company, as I remember.”

“To be fair, brother, neither were you.”

“I am not the one who abandoned you when you were in the healing chambers!” Loki snaps. He startles immediately afterwards: the venom in his own voice surprised him.

Thor’s eyebrows frown in confusion. “What are you…” His eyes widen slightly in understanding. “You mean after you cut Sif’s hair? That was a most cruel prank, Loki, I was well in my right to be angry with you!”

Unwilling to concede anything, Loki sneers. “Ah, and how quick your brotherly concern vanishes in the face of anger. Tell me, Thor, next time I pass out, should I make sure to court your favors beforehand? I would hate for you to leave me where I lay because of whatever offence you might have taken.”

“What..? No, I…” Thor’s face reddens. “That has nothing to do with anything!”

“Says you? I do not know, I find it wholly relevant. What a bind we find ourselves in!”

“That was several decades ago! Things were different!”

“Then what changed? Did Mother nag you one time too many?”

The answering groans is close to a roar, a true sign that Thor is the son of Odin. “Why are you being so difficult?!” His arms jerk violently, his wide gesture of frustration curbed only by his need not to lead the horse astray. “Whatever grievances you may have had with me, why do you refuse my offer to mend our bridges?”

Because you are lying, Loki almost blurts out. Because you only pity me right now, have some reason to want me back that will expire soon. Because you will abandon me, and all you good sentiments will be proved useless!

Pride keeps his mouth shut.

After long seconds of silence, Thor sighs. “I promise my motives are sincere. If you were ever hurt by my actions, then I am sorry. Will you accept then?”

Loki purses his lips. “There is no reason for things to change.”

“There is no reason for them not to.”

Oh for Hel’s sake. Where does all this sentiment come from?

Loki knows he should refuse. He had already pushed matters with Sigyn, the Casket will not take kindly to him giving even less attention.

On the other hand, Thor’s groveling still tickles his pride, and if Mother is behind this in any way then Loki can be sure he hasn’t heard the end of it.

Besides, if Thor really hasn't changed, then everything will go back to the way they were soon enough. The Casket will understand.

“Fine,” he huffs, looking away. “We will be closer, however the Hel you think it will happen. Shall I expect a tea party every afternoon?”

Just like that, his brother’s mood shifts entirely. He laughs, loudly. “Nay! Only mighty quests on far off lands!”

Distant lands? Oh, his friend would never allow that. “Not happening.”

Thor startles, his eyes growing stupidly wide. “You do not wish for adventure?!”

“No.”

His brother opens his mouth, ready to object, but slowly he closes it and nods. Clearly, he is not so impatient as to throw so soon to the wind that uncharacteristic restraint.

Good for him, then.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Their return to the capital is done with no great fanfare; most of its inhabitants probably were not even aware of where they had been for the past few days. The two princes ride back to the palace in relative discretion, occasionally being saluted by a servant or lord that happened to be on the road to the stables. When they finally dismount, the only one there to greet them is their mother, most likely warned of their imminent return by the servants that had been sent ahead with their belongings.

Thor shows nothing but contentment at the sight, but Loki cannot help but feel disappointed. The Casket had hardly shown any sign of life as he got closer and closer to its location, even long past the point when they should have been able to talk. It was only through his own focus that Loki had been able to feel its presence at all.

That is… unsettling to say the least. Loki has long learned that such cold behavior is the sign that he had done something wrong, but for the life of him he cannot imagine what.

Perhaps that is it, though? His friend hates being ignored, It mustn’t have reacted well to the distance between the two of them. But that hadn’t been Loki’s fault, and surely the Casket would know…?

Or maybe it is something else, and Loki just cannot see it.

Whatever the case, he resolves to apologize to his friend as soon as he has time alone.

For now though, he smiles as his mother comes close, and holds her tightly as she embraces him.

“My sons,” she says after she releases him, “I am glad to see you returned.”

“Really, Mother? But you were so keen to send us away!” Loki exclaims in mock shock, before his expression dissolves into a teasing grin.

The Queen shakes her head in exasperated amusement. “Laugh all you want, but I promise that a mother dislikes being away from her sons far more tha they dislike being away from her.”

“If they enjoy the time apart, it is only for the joy of going back to you.”

“You waste you time, Loki, trying to convince her with words.” Thor steps forward, placing a kiss on her cheek. It is the kind of gentle affection he only bestows on her anymore. “Actions speak far more.”

“Well, if you say so,” Loki drawls, trying to hide the hurt he feels. He had been enjoying himself, with his mother and his words, and is not keen to see his brother dismiss them. So much for his pretty promises during their time way.

His heart clenches at the thought. He distracts himself from that feeling by focusing on vindication.

His mother’s smile strains just a little, her grip on Thor’s arm tightening, and his brother’s happy expression falters slightly. He clears his throat. “Then again, that may be more true for one as little skilled in using them as me. You, brother, fare much better.”

Loki cannot believe the smile Thor is giving him is anything like an apology, but his mother’s presence as well as his own desire not to be too petty make him acknowledge the clumsy correction. He nods once, giving a small smile for good measure.

His mother’s hand unclench, the only sign that there had been any tension within her to begin with. “Your father is currently with the Council,” she starts, obviously wanting to put that small moment of conflict behind them, “but he will see you as soon as he is done. There is no need to wait around, a servant will come to summon you when the time comes.”

“Do you not wish to question us for the next hour?” Loki asks in mock-shock.

“I had thought you would take advantage of the time of day to see your friends before they retire,” Mother answers, her eyes full of mischievous amusement, “but rest assured that I will be hearing all about it tonight.”

“So it is a delayed torture,” Thor states. His entire demeanor makes it impossible to mistake his comment as anything other than a joke. “But if you will let your sons leave you, I do wish to go speak to my companions.”

“I will let my sons leave, and perhaps even chase them away if they continue to hesitate.” Reaching out, she cups Thor’s cheek with her right hand. The gesture seems to startle her, for she chuckles. “I remember a time when I had to crouch to speak to you, and now I almost need to raise my hand to touch your face. I can hardly imagine how tall you will grow to be. Both of you,” she adds, turning towards Loki, her eyes soft and loving. She takes a step back.“Go, my children. We will have time tonight.”

Loki steps forward to kiss her cheek. “I will try to find Sigyn, then.” His head snaps towards his brother when the oaf starts to grin. “Not a word, Thor!”

His brother nods solemnly, but the twitch on the corner of his mouth dispels any semblance of contriteness.

Loki quickly bids the Queen goodbye before turning away, unwilling to show his own lips threatening to shape into a smile.

He refuses to acknowledge it as anything but the effect of comic of repetition.

The halls are quite full today, making it easy for him to stop a maid and ask her about Sigyn’s whereabouts. He is hardly surprised to learn that she has chosen to settle down in a less occupied corner of the palace. The small wooden door leading to the courtyard is hardly as inviting as the large golden gates that can be found throughout the palace.

The smell of roasted meat reaches his nose, reminding him that the kitchens are indeed nearby. Perhaps he shall ask for a few snacks once he has settled next to Sigyn? The two of them will be able to eat as he tells her about his trip. She will certainly enjoy that.

He smiles at the thought. With luck, there might even be strawberry pie.

He hears Sigyn’s voice getting louder and louder as he comes closer. She is talking to someone, obviously, but it shouldn’t be too hard to get rid of whoever it is. His mere presence is usually enough to make most flee.

His smile widens as he makes one final turn before reaching the courtyard. He opens his mouth to greet Sigyn. Then he freezes.

The conversation between the two stopped at his arrival, as they both looked at him with various degrees of pleasure and surprise. Loki stares in dumb silence for half a second, the sight of the man next to his friend enough to still his tongue before he manages something between a croak and a gasp.

“Baldr?”

 

 

 


	19. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, chapter 17! Again, sorry for the delay. 
> 
> In my infinite wisdom, I decided to sign up for the Frostiron Secret Santa, because I totally know what I'm doing. I thought I could stick to my planned schedule while writing two fics. I was wrong.
> 
> This chapter has been betad by the amazing amethyst_uk. She is the greatest defender of proper spelling and grammar I know.

“Loki!” Baldr exclaims, grinning - the exact same grin Loki remembers - “It is good to see you!”

“Is it?” Loki asks numbly.

“Yes!” he continues, ever enthusiastic. “I had been looking for you after my arrival. It is unfortunate that it happened to be the day after your departure!”

His blue eyes are as wide and earnest as they have ever been. In fact, very little has changed in him: his face is just as round, although he lost some of the baby-fat that had been so prominent when they were young. He is still rather small, the top of his head barely reaching Loki’s chin. The only differences Loki can see are his hair, a shade darker than before, and his build, which is slightly more muscular than his.

“The reason he came to talk to me in the first place was to ask where to find you,” Sigyn informs him. “I was almost hurt.”

Loki doesn’t laugh at the joke. His eyes are still on Baldr.

He remembers the last times the two of them spoke, as it coincides almost exactly to when he first met the Casket. Just as he remembers keenly the first betrayal he has ever experienced, leaving him alone with only one friend for decades afterwards.

 _Good riddance,_ the Casket had said when Baldr and his family have left for the province after his father had been named Jarl. And Loki had agreed, of course, and then only periodically thought about the boy. He had been something of the past.

Except that he obviously isn’t. At least not anymore.

And he doesn’t know how to deal with it. He doesn’t know what the Casket thinks of this.

“What do you want?” he asks, more demandingly than would be polite.

Sigyn rolls her eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Loki, are you really going to call onto your princely authority now?”

Loki can feel his eyes bulge. He reignsreins it in at the last second.

Sigyn _never_ swears in front of anyone but him. Not even Thor. Only _him_.

Except she obviously does now.

Baldr blushes, looking at Sigyn uncomfortably. “It is alright, my Lady…”

“Oh Hel! I’ve told you before it’s Sigyn,” she cuts him off. “I’ve known you for five days and I already like you better than most here. We can be on first name basis.”

Including Loki, obviously. So eager to defend Baldr, even when Loki hasn’t _done_ anything.

“Thank you... Sigyn,” Baldr continues, blushing even harder. “But there is no need to get upset. I was not offended. Not that I had any cause to be!” he adds hastily, looking back at Loki with wide eyes. “And to answer your question, my father has seen fit to send my back to the Capital, to finish my education. Little compares to what the Palace can offer.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Loki replies curtly. “I mean, why are you heare, in this courtyard?”

Baldr blinks in surprise. Sigyn looks at him sharply. “Why… I was merely talking with the Lady Sigyn.”

“Indeed, I see that.” He straightens his spine. “Well, I do not wish to bother you any longer. I’ll be leaving you.”

“Oh no!” Baldr corrects, face contorting itself into the picture of alarm, “you are not bothering at all!”

“I am well experienced in detecting when I am,” Loki says coldly in return. He only needs to glance at Sigyn to know that it isn’t true. “I will not impose any longer. Good day.”

With that he turns around, ignoring Baldr’s beginning of protest. Sigyn interrupts him, saying something Loki doesn’t listen to.

He turns the corner and heads back towards the main section of the palace.

 _Would it be too much to request your company now?_ The Casket’s voice is dripping with sarcasm.

Loki flinches. He should have gone straight back to his room.

_Yes, you should have._

He shouldn’t delay any longer.

He makes his way back towards his room, his feet carrying him as fast as possible without running. Paradoxically, he wants to delay this as much as possible. This entire situation is reminiscent of his childhood, when his father would summon him to chastise him over some trick or another.

The only true difference is that his father doesn’t let him work for forgiveness.

He gets back to the royal wing in record time. A quick turn around the last corner, and he stops dead in his tracks.

Thor is there in the hall.. With _Sif_.

This day is ending miserably _._

“Brother!” Thor greets, all smiles and good cheer. “Are you not with the Lady Sigyn?”

“She was otherwise occupied,” he replies smoothly. He pauses before reluctantly adding: “Hello, Sif.”

“Hello Loki,” she replies, polite and nothing more.

“What are you doing here?” he asks after a moment of silence, crossing his arms.

Sif frowns at that. “We are just as entitled to be here as you,” she says with a huff. “You do not own these halls.”

“Actually, my Lady, since these are the Royal Quarters, I have a better claim to them thano you,” he says conversationally, before adding with a sweet smile. “But why so much negativity? I was only surprised not to find the two of you hitting each other on the training grounds.”

“I am surprised you know of their existence,” she bites back, “since you obviously never use them yourself.”

“Peace, my friend, my brother, none of this!” Thor sets a hand on Sif’s shoulder, giving her a loaded look. She huffs, but settles. Loki lets himself smirk. “I merely needed to retrieve some objects from my chambers. Sif was kind enough to accompany me.” Putting his hand down, he continues. “It is good to find you here though, brother. I have a message for you.”

Loki cocks an eyebrow. “A message?”

Thor nods. “From Father, yes.”

Loki freezes. “Do you, now?” he asks faintly. Why would Father not come to him? Why would he only speak to Thor?

“He came to me shortly after we parted,” Thor continues. “He does not have time to see us today, as matters concerning Vanaheim will keep him busy well into the night, but he will see us tomorrow.”

“I see,” Loki replies, straining to keep his voice level. “Is that all.”

“Not at all,” he continues with a laughter, “our father must pass judgementjudgment, you should know by now. He has heard the details concerning our stay in Lord Fenrirson’s abode, and is overall pleased. To you specifically, he wishes to say that he is pleased you were of such good support to me.”

“Ah.”

He resists the urge to close his eyes. He had hoped for better, but then again, when has that ever workedgone well for him? And if Father thought he had done well, Loki would have liked to hear it from his own lips. Yet he is not surprised, that Father chose to search for Thor instead of him....

Is that all he was supposed to be, then? Some support for Thor? Of course he was, he thinks bitterly, he is only second Prince after all.

Father probably preferred sending the dunderhead anyway. For all his ineptitude at politics, his brother can make himself well-liked. Father probably had more faith in his golden son than in the little-regarded second Prince.

Perhaps then Loki had been too bold in making a speech then ; he should have let Thor be the one to do it. Although Father didn’t seem to reproach him _that…._ Though maybe he wishes to do it in person.

“Well, you’ve passed on the message,” he finally says with a tight smile. “I shan’t keep you any longer.”

“Nor will we,” Sif says quickly, before Thor can say anything. “Good day!” she begins to pull Thor by the arm, but his brother shakes her off.

“Sif, wait!” Thor turns towards him. “Father has made time to see us before the midday meal. We could go there together after we are downe on the training grounds?”

“Of course,” Loki replies. It is of little hardship, and if it will keep his brother satisfied - and more importantly get him to leave - he will gladly do it.

Thor smiles, and this time doesn’t resist as Sif pulls him away.

Loki watches the two of them go with no small amount of relief. For all he has assured his brother that they will become closer - whatever the Hel that means - he will make no more efforts today. This day has been long, with the ride back, Thor’s sudden desire for open-hearted conversations and brotherly bonds, Sigyn, _Baldr_ , Father’s disapproval yet again ; he just wants everyone to leave, to go lie down and wait for tomorrow.

But, he thinks with a heavy exhale, the Casket has yet to have said his piece ;piece; he will not be getting any break any time soon. His friend will refuse to wait until tomorrow.

Pursing his lips so that he does not huff, Loki steps into his room.

He has just enough time to close his door and thus fully activate the silencing spell before he hears the sharp voice within his mind.

_You have kept me waiting boy!_

“To be fair, so have you,” he replies, all the while knowing how unwise it is. He would haveof cared, on another day, but right now he is just too tired..

The inevitable response comes swiftly: pain blossoms on his left cheek, sharp and sudden. It is enough to make him flinch, although the lack of a true physical blow makes it so that his head doesn’t snap to the side.

He does let out a hiss though.

 _Not a word,_ the Casket spits out, _you deserved it._

Loki doesn’t react, keeping his mind purposefully blank. “I was detained, coming into my room. I am sure you saw.”

 _And before that? You were eager enough to go meet that_ girl.

ItThe puts emphasis on the last word, full of disdain and condescension. Perhaps Loki should defend Sigyn ; it would be the honorable thing to do.

It would anger the Casket even more.

_Little good it did you. Though I suppose you should be used to rejection by now._

“She didn’t reject me!” he snaps before he can think better of it. The stab of hurt he feels at his friend’s words doesn’t allow anything else. “She…”

But the look on her face when he arrived, when he left...

_Fine, foolish creature. Keep up with your pathetic hope! You’ll see I was right in the end!_

He hopes not. Surely five days away wouldn’t be enough to ruin everything?

_To think that you would leave me for her, after abandoning me here for so long!_

“I didn’t have a choice for that last one!” Loki protests.

The Casket pays him no heed. _I could not hear you, could barely feel you! Do you have any idea how worried I was!_

Despite being ignored like this, he can feel a smile tug at his lips. The sentiment is rare, and wholly appreciated.

_Alone without me. I don’t know how you managed._

What…?

_Not too well, from what I’ve seen, but I suppose that was to be expected._

“I did just fine!” he protests, voice much more unsure than he would have liked. “Better than Thor, at least.”

_Thor made himself liked. It is the most vital part of diplomacy. The same cannot be said for you._

“I..” he begins, but words elude him. Where does this come from? Why would his friend say such things?.

How _dare_ it?

_Your memories say as much. Do you think there is a reason why no one would acknowledge you after your little intervention?_

“You..… you looked..?” he sputters. “You said you wouldn’t! You liar!”

_If that is what you choose to focus on, then I can only assume you know I am right._

“Shut up!” he snaps, before wincing. It is such a mediocre reply, the kind Thor has given him after all their arguments. He had always taken satisfaction in those words, knowing that it meant his brother had no rebuttal.

But he knows, he _knows_ he did well enough, even if he wasn’t perfect. Lord Sveid had smiled, he thinks, and he did what Öndóttr asked him to do. Thor would have managed to ruin a routine mission if it hadn’t been for him.

But then, why…?

“I did well,” he says again, forcing his voice into composure.

 _Did you?_ It barks out a laugh, like a whipcrack. _I must have missed the congratulations then. Such a shame. I am certain such a_ remarkable _performance would have earned much praise._

“You understand nothing at all!” His breath is ragged.

 _I am much older than you, boy,_ it sneers. _Do not compare the two of us, you will find yourself lacking._

“Will I? Because out of the two of us, which one is capable of moving around?!”

The punch he feels next takes his breath away. Quite literally. The shock and pain in his guts make him expel all his air at once, making him gag as tears sting the side of his eyes.

It has been quite a while since a hit had hurt that much. In fact, it has been quite a time since he has been hit at all.

He usually doesn’t talk back this much.

But Norns, does it feel _good!_

 _Do not disrespect me like that again._ The Casket’s tone is flat, and deadly serious.

Loki forces out a laugh. “For all the time you spend scorning Gildi, the two of you do have a lot in common. You both hit when arguments fail you.”

A slap again, on the left cheek this time, enough to make his head snap. He glares angrily at the ground.

Someone knocks urgently on the door.

 _Do not answer!_ The Casket orders immediately, _We are not done._

The grin that appears on Loki’s face is almost savage. “Come in!”

Not even half a second later, Sigyn barges in. “What the Hel were you thinking?!”

The anger in her features should bid him into caution ; although he has never been on the receiving end of Sigyn’s ire, he has seen it enough times to know it is an unpleasant experience.

But he can feel the Casket’s mute shock behind him, and the feeling of victory that surges through him makes him grin even wider. “You are going to have to be more specific, Sigyn dear”

“Don’t go looking all triumphant, you little shit!” She isn’t yelling, but close. “Baldr. Explain that to me, will you?”

“Ah, him.” He had expected as much, really, but the mention of that boy’s name is still enough to make his joy deflate. “I honestly don’t know why you are so upset.”

“Because I was having a very nice conversation with someone who turned out to be an old friend of yours, and was actually looking forward to you joining in. Instead,” she continues, tilting her head as she stresses the word, “you lashed out at him for no good reason and left.”

“You shouldn’t be surprised. I am told I can be remarkably unpleasant.”

“I know, I’ve been there. They usually deserve it. Baldr doesn’t.”

Loki scoffs. “So _protective,_ Sigyn! Has anything happened while I was gone?”

“Shut up, asshole! You can let your tongue loose against any piss-finished bastard that roams the palace and, I’ll be next to you writing down suggestions. But Baldr is a genuinely nice person, and he doesn’t deserve it!”

He sniffs. “Well, aren’t you besotted?”

Sigyn blinks, “Are you… are you _jealous?_ ”

He recoils. “Why would I be?” he asks back, crossing his arms.

“Oh no, don’t try selling that sort of shit with me! I saw your face fall when you came to talk to us, I thought you were just surprised!”

“I was,” he answers slowly, speaking as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Baldr was there. It was surprising.”

“Oh, don’t start!” Sigyn half orders, half-growls. “I met him the day after you left, and we happened to get along! It’s a good thing, too, because given the choice I much rather spend five days in intelligent conversation than alone, even if I can manage that last one!” She huffs. “So yes, I was very glad to meet him, and yes, I would like to get to know him better. Norns know it doesn’t happen often with the people I meet here. But Loki, it’s been _five days._ I’ve known you for much longer than that, so what the fuck are you jealous of?”

“So _he’s_ a just a temporary replacement?” he asks before he can stop himself. Worse still, he can hear some relief seeping into his voice.

Not that he can help it.

Now that he is here, maybe she will choose him instead. The two of them agree on many matters concerning others in the palace, surely it would be the same here?

Certainly, yes, yes,. as Baldr is, so pure and righteous, he would probably bore her to tears after a few days. Already has, most likely.

That would mean that for the first time, somebody else is the spare. Baldr would be the one tossed away this time.

What a nice feeling. It is enough to make him smile.

Or it would have been, if it weren’t for the look of murderous rage on Sigyn’s face. That, and shock, incredulity, a little bit of bafflement. Her nostrils are flaring. “What the….” she croaks, before her voice explodes into a shout. “What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?! He is a _friend!_ So are you! Despite what you might think, the two are not mutually exclusive”

Loki opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off

“Ymir’s tits, you’re impossible,” she cries out, before exhaling heavily. Squaring her shoulders, she looks at him steady in the eyes. “Just one conversation,conversation and you lose your mind! After five days!”

“I couldn’t care less if you choose to associate with someone else! I merely deplore your choice of companion!”

“What? What could you possibly hold against him?!”

“Nothing, of course,” he sneers. “Baldr, so pure and wholesome, not a toe out of line..…”

“No, no, don’t try deflecting! I mean it, what could you hold against him? You haven’t seen him in centuries!”

“He...” he starts, full of outrage that quickly fizzles out when he realizes he has no idea how to finish his sentence.

Because he betrayed me over two hundred years ago? When we both were still mindless children? Norns, no, there is no way he can say that out loud. No matter how much it had hurt, the first betrayal he had ever experience, the two of them weren’t even a century old then.

He had been about to say to _Sigyn_ of all people that he did not wish to talk to Baldr because of a slight given to him when they were not even old enough to begin training.

Just fully verbalizing it in his own mind makes him want to blush in embarrassment. That in turns only fuels his anger. Because he may have no other answer to give Sigyn, and that…

Well, he would much rather feel like he is completely in the right.

 _Are you so pathetic that you cannot even defend yourself?!_ The Casket’s spits out, more disdain than outrage. _Must I do everything for you?_

On any other day, the outrage and scorn would have been enough to get Loki to comply.

This time, something snaps.

“You’re right,” he agrees quickly. “I over reacted.”

Sigyn blinks, the tension in her shoulders halfway disappearing. Loki is fairly certain it is out of surprise rather than anything else. “Pardon?”

“I may have been overly harsh with poor Baldr,” he continues. It is difficult to block out the fury coming from the Casket, but the satisfaction he feels is a more than adequate buffer.

Sigyn opens her mouth, closes it. Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “May have? You were a judgemental prick.”

His smile stiffens a little, but he nods. “Yes, and I should apologize to him. Right now.”

“You don’t apologize to anyone…” her tone is almost accusing.

“And I am told it is a bad habit,” he replies smoothly.

Her eyes narrow some more, so much so that he is starting to wonder if she can see at all. He says nothing, until she softensmoothes her face in one exhale. “Yes, you should apologize,” she states, “so you are going to do so, and I will be there to make sure this isn’t some kind of scheme so that you can be even more of an ass later. Because if it is, Loki, I will punch you.”

He shouldn’t be surprised at such protectiveness coming from her ; if Baldr is anything like he used to be, he would have easily endeared himself to her. And although he doesn’t like the idea of being watched over like an unruly child, he knows better than to object on that point.

“Sigyn!” he gasps in mock shock. “It is as if you don’t trust me!”

“Loki, you are a very good friend to me. But you are also a cold bastard at times.” She jerks a finger towards the door. “He’s outside.”

“Really?”

“He wanted to come and apologize for having hurt you.” The look she gives him tells him exactly what she thinks about his need for an apology.

“...Of course he did,” Loki almost sighs. “Well, we had best let him in. Since you are closer…?”

Sigyn goes to the door, but not before shooting Loki one last warning look.

 _Loki, you…_ The Casket starts, but his anger and shock have apparently taken all of It’s words.

You should be quiet now, Loki thinks gleefully. They may suspect something otherwise.

Baldr’s blond head pokes through the door. He looks like a timid child. “Ah, Loki… may I enter?”

“Of course.”

“I wish to apologize for what happened earlier. It was never my…”

Loki lifts his hand. “There is no need for an apology if it isn’t mine. I was needlessly curt to you. The day has been long, and I have let it get the better of me.”

Baldr’s shoulders sag in relief. “I am glad. I would have hated for us to be cross so soon after we meet again.”

Loki doesn’t know what to say to that. “It would have been a shame indeed.”

“In truth - and if it is not too bold to say - I had been looking forward to meeting you again. It seemed like a good opportunity to rekindle our friendship.”

If Loki hadn’t been determined to play nice, he would have scoffed. There is no friendship to speak of, not for the past two hundred years almost. It is perhaps no great time to a grown As, but at their age it is significant enough. Baldr is being ridiculous. “You are… generous, in your appellation,” he says slowly, unable to resist making some sort of comment.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Sigyn roll her eyes, a long-suffering sigh escaping her lips. “I may be wrong in my impressions, by I do believe Baldr has a tendency of being generous,” she shoots back at him.

The blond doesn’t acknowledge her words. He looks at Loki, his expression a mixture of confusion and slight hurt. “Did you not consider me as such?”

No, not really, not at all, he almost wants to say, but doesn’t. He wishes he could blame Sigyn’s presence, as well as his own intentions for that.

But the truth is that Baldr’s expression is on the verge of looking positively crestfallen. Honestly sad that Loki may not have hold the same view on their relationship as him. In fact, it reminds him immensely of Thor just two days ago. Except Baldr is not drunk stupid.

It is not as thrilling as it was when his brother did it though. There is some that, of course, but the sadness if visible, though Baldr does his best to hide it, and the entire face is so _candid_ in its unhappiness ; Loki doesn’t have the heart to relish in the feeling.

“It has been a long time,” he hesitantly, “and we were not on the best of terms when you left.” He suppresses a wince as that part escapes his lips. He had intended to be more aloof in his response ; showing that he remembers any part of that time goes against that. “I merely thought you would have found new ones,” he finishes with deliberate casualness.

“I.. oh yes… well…” Baldr stutters, before recomposing himself. He gives him a shy smile. “Still, I have fond memories of our childhood.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Sigyn intervenes. “Loki has a problem with the word. We’ve known each other for well over a hundred years, and he’s just gotten around to using it.”

“Well, our situations _are_ different.” Baldr points out hesitantly

“Not that much,” she shrugs.

Loki glares at her. “I do believe I may be a better judge than you.”

“You are emotionally constipated, you can’t judge for shit.”

“Sigyn!” Baldr says, much more forceful than he was moments ago. It doesn’t last long ; as soon as Sigyn startles into silence, he becomes much more soft-spoken, almost embarrassed at his outburst. “Loki does have a point.”

Loki looks at him, surprised. Baldr is defending him?

Is he truly that soft-hearted?

Sigyn purses her lips. “I suppose, yes.”

“It is kind of you to defend me, but Loki is not unreasonable in his opinions,” he continues soothingly. “There is no need to fight over this.”

She purses her lips, before sighing. “I’m sorry, Loki,” she says only slightly reluctantly. “Please don’t put snakes in my bed as punishment.”

“Of course not,” Loki answers sweetly, “I’d change your drink into them, if anything.”

“Asshole.”

“Transfiguration?” Baldr’s looks at him in surprise. “Can you truly do such a thing?”

“Yes..?” He doesn’t hide the confusion in his voice. Of all things, why would he doubt that?

“It is impressive!” The blond grins, admiration obvious in his voice. It is startling : he’s never had that kind of a reaction before. “From a non-living entity to an animal… I don’t believe I’ve ever seen it done before!”

Loki blinks once, twice, needing to regain his bearings. He honestly hadn’t expected his passing comment to generate such a passionate response, let alone a _positive_ one. “Thank you.”

“Liquid to solid as well…” Baldr continues. “Have you been able to do it for long?”

“Not very, no. A few years at most.”

“I would like to see it some time,” Baldr says somewhat longingly. “Not today, of course,” he adds hastily, “But someday perhaps?”

Loki swallows. “Someday, yes.” Those eyes truly are the most manipulative things in the realms. Moments ago they made him feel guilty ; now they make him want to blush. He looks to the side just a little, enough to remain somewhat composed. “How do you know…. Ah, yes, your uncle. He is a mage, is he not?”

“Great-uncle,” Baldr corrects. “And yes, he was. We were never close, but during his rare visits he would take me on his laps and talk about his craft. That is, until my father..…” he swallows, shakes his head. “I am sorry, I digress. As I was saying, all I know is from those times, so it’s really nothing more than a passing knowledge.”

“It’s more than I know,” Sigyn shrugs.

“Which is not saying much at all,” Loki points out. He may be a little upset with her still.

“Tell me what a basket weave is and I’ll accept your criticism.”

“Really Sigyn?” he asks condescendingly, “My mother is your teacher. Do you really think I don’t know?”

She lifts her chin. “Go on then.”

Loki doesn’t go on. Loki was lying.

Sigyn smiles in satisfaction.

“You do sell yourself short,” he turns back to Baldr. “That is a fair bit of knowledge for someone who doesn’t practice the craft ; it is more than most, at least.”

“You are kind,” the boy says bashfully.

Loki scoffs. “I’ve never been accused of that before.”

“Well, it is not an accusation but a compliment, so it isn’t all that surprising.”

Sigyn laughs. Loki cannot help but chuckle as well ; not so much at the quip, but more at how Baldr delivered it : much less as a joke than as a genuine comment.

Quite frankly, he doubts Baldr sees the humor in his response ; it only makes it funnier.

 _He is rather dull, isn’t he?_ The Casket chimes, _I…_

The voice in his mind is unwelcome, for once. He may have been distracted by this brief conversation, but He hasn’t forgotten his anger. Does the Casket truly think him so changeable?

He is not, Loki interrupts It coldly. Go away.

He happens to find Baldr agreeable. If his own anger towards the Casket makes him more prone to give the blond a chance, well, it doesn’t change much.

 _Listen to me, boy,_ the Casket growls, _you…_

“Do not try a play on words against me, Baldr,” he says quickly, cutting It off again. “I will beat you at them.”

“Play on..…” Baldr trails off, before chuckling. “Ah, yes, I see! I hadn’t noticed.” He shakes his head. “It was purely accidental, I assure you. Manipulating words is not one of my skills.”

“Do not worry. It isn’t Sigyn’s either.”

“Oh by the Norns…” she mumbles. “You are just going to keep going, aren’t you?”

Loki snickers.

“I think I’ll just have those snakes in my drink instead. Just to get your retribution over with. Baldr will get his little demonstration as well. Everybody wins.”

“If you wish,” Loki agrees sweetly. “I can call for Hulda if you wish.”

“Who’s Hulda?” Sigyn asks.

“A servant who works in the kitchens. You may not have seen her, she is mostly assigned to the royal service.”

“Oh! Is she the grey haired one? With curls? I like her!” At Loki’s questioning look, she looks sheepish. “I got lost once, during my first month here - don’t give me that look, the palace is a damn maze. She helped me find my way. And gave me cake.”

“Yes, she tends to do that.”

“Indeed,” Baldr adds. “In fact, I was going to suggest…” he trails off, embarrassed. “I have come across with Hulda again, two days ago. She still hasve fond memories of me.”

“And?” Loki presses.

“Well, she offered for me to come visit her in the kitchens… to bring me some cakes,” he finishes sheepishly. “I was bringing Sigyn there when you found us.”

“Oh Hel, did Loki keep us from cake? Damn you!” Sigyn says, turning towards him. She then goes to the door. “Let’s go. Quickly.” She rushes out, confident that the boys will follow her.

She isn’t wrong.

He turns to look at Baldr, who is walking rather fast all things considered. “You are just as delighted as her.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have wished to _impose…_ ” the blond scratches the back head sheepishly. “But I had been wishing for some familiar sights… and I do have good memories about them…”

“Your love for cakes hasn’t diminished in two centuries,” Loki comments dryly. “It is a wonder you haven’t grown fat!”

Baldr’s laughs at that, shoulders dropping in relief. No anger, no hostility. “Aye, but I do not claim to understand the mysteries of Yggdrasil.” He smiles, slapping Loki on the back.

Loki flinches, instinctively recoils from the contact. He straightens up quickly enough, trying his best not to blush from embarrassment. It is an ubiquitous gesture in Asgard ; that he should react so violently to it could only be perceived as utterly bizarre.

Sigyn, who is two steps ahead of them, couldn’t have noticed, but there is no way Baldr missed it.

But the boy says nothing,nothing; his smile never leaves his face. He simply puts his hands back to his side.

Nothing more is said. However, during the rest of the afternoon, Baldr never slaps him on the back again, despite the many moments it would be called for.

Loki smiles in relief. And maybe also in appreciation.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When he returns to his room, it is late in the evening.

The remainder of the afternoon had been surprisingly un-painful, though mainly because the conversation never strayed towards any serious subject. A brief recount of Loki’s trip - a subject he has quickly grown much more keenkeener on avoiding - followed by topics such as preferred cakes, and how the ones from Asgard compare to those from Vanaheim.

It was not a thrilling conversation.

It was… nice. Between the light-hearted conversation, Sigyn’s familiarity, and Baldr’s apparent incapability to be anything less than pleasant, Loki had found himself much more relaxed than he used to be.

But that all ends now.

Coming back to the room means coming back to the Casket. And facing consequences.

Oh, Iit will not be pleased, he is sure of it. But he won’t back down, he refuses! He will _not_ be so pathetic! And he will not be swayed, not by any threat!

It is not as if the Casket would leave forever.

(That last thought is not nearly as certain as he would have liked.)

He steels himself as he steps in.

Unlike earlier that day, the Casket doesn’t speak as soon as he has closed the door. He has time to take a few steps, slowly.

The room feels unsafe, somehow. It galls him: this is _his_ room, why should he feel like this?

 _Can we talk now?_ The Casket’s voice is steady and level.

According to prior experience, it is the calm before the storm.

Loki squares his shoulders. “I suppose,” he says slowly.

_Good._

He waits.

_I am sorry, Loki._

His breath hitches. “What…?”

 _I let my jealousy and loneliness get the better of me,_ the Casket laments. _It was undignified._

“I…”

_Do you forgive me?_

Loki can feel his mouth open and close like a fish on land. He had prepared himself for many reactions. This wasn’t one of them.

 _Loki_ , the Casket urges, _say you forgive me. Otherwise... Oh, I don’t know what I will do!_

“I..…” he swallows, walking towards his bed. He needs to sit down. “You were out of line.”

 _Yes, yes, I know._ It sighs. _I had been most frustrated, alone for so long. And then you went to_ them _instead of straight to me… I thought you would leave for good._

“A little dramatic, don’t you think?” He raises an eyebrow. “Besides, I do not recall you celebrating my presence when I arrived.”

_I thought to wait until we were alone. Should I not have?_

He pursespursues his lips. It is true that he has told the Casket more than once that he prefers that It speaks when he is certain no one would spot them. It seldom took such cautions, though..

 _Ah yes. I am sorry about that as well. My enthusiasm sometimes gets the best of me,_ It says sheepishly. _However, I had resolved to be on my best behavior._

“Oh yes, I noticed that ‘“best behavior’” when I entered the room.”

_I told you, Loki, I was… distraught. You chose to go find her instead of me. I hate feeling abandoned._

He hesitates, biting his lips. It isn’t as if he cannot sympathize with the feeling, and he _knows_ how worried his friend can get about such things..…

Still. “And now I have spent the rest of the day in someone else’s company,” he challenges. “Shall I expect you to begin screaming any time now?”

 _Why must you act like this?_ The hurt in Its voice is palpable. _Do you really wish for us to fight?!_

He flinches at the words. Part of him wants to sneer at being chastised like a child.

The other feels guilt.

_Are you just trying to provoke me, so that you can freely wash your hands of me!?_

“What? No!” Hurts add itself to his voice. “Why would you think that?”

 _You have grown bored,_ It laments. Loki isn’t certain It is even listening anymore. _On to better and brighter things._

“That wasn’t…” he begins to protest, but the Casket cuts him off.

_I should have expected it really. It is easier for you isn’t it?_

“What…”

 _A physical body, a face… So hard to communicate without those things. I do try my_ hardest, _but obviously, it isn’t enough._

“I don’t…”

_I am simply unsuitable, I suppose. And old news, compared to those shiny, new pretty faces - ha, faces. I don’t know why I kept hope for so long. You were bound to get tired of me eventually…._

“I’d never grow tired of you,” he says before he can think. He just wants it to stop talking, let him speak for a moment, just a moment. Just let him _think._

It takes a moment for him to realize it has worked. The Casket is waiting, expectantly.

“I do not resent your lack of a corporal form, I never have,” he continues, hoping desperately that his words will soothe it. “You more than make up - no, no you do not need to make up for it,” he corrects himself, anticipating the Casket’s hurt. “It has never been a consideration.”

_You have commented on it more than once in the past._

Loki winces. “Words spoken in anger. I did not mean them.” When the Casket doesn’t reply, he adds : “I am sorry.”

 _You cannot leave me, Loki._ The words are both determined and frantic. _It is already horrendous to have you far away. Should you abandon me..._

“I will not,” he answers with certainty. “No matter what happens, I will not forsake you. I have few enough friends to know the value of one. And out of the few I have, I’ve known you longest. Just because I have gained one or two more does not mean I will dismiss you,” he adds, an echo of Sigyn’s words to him earlier that day. “You shouldn’t be worried.”

His words hang in the air for what seems like eternity. He doesn’t release his breath, not until he gets a reaction from his friend.

 _I am sorry, Loki._ Arms wrap around him. _I should never have doubted you loved me best._

He sighs in relief. “It is alright.”

_But that boy…y…._

“Baldr? What about him?” he asks, even though he has an idea of where this is going.

_Do you truly intend to… associate with him again?_

“I… I don’t mind him,” he says carefully. He has just managed to calm his friend, he needs to be careful not to sound too eager. “You must have seen, he is… Well, he is unobtrusive, to say the least. As long as he stays that way, I see no reason to avoid him if he desires my company.”

 _He hurt you once,_ it says urgently. _Betrayed you. Who’s to say he will not do it again?_

“To be fair, it was a long time ago,” he points out reasonably. “We were children then.”

 _You are still a child. And too trusting!_ It frets. _I always need to watch out for you._

Loki’s eyes narrow. “I can make my own decisions.”

A pause. _I only ask that you be careful._

“I will, if you insist. But it isn’t necessary, you’ll see.” He lies back, the sensation of arms clinging to him follows. “It is just your jealousy talking again, I think.”

 _Ah, perhaps you are right,_ it answers after a pause. It chuckles. _I adore you so much it clouds my judgement._

 _“_ It’s fine,” Loki answers quietly, a not-quite a smile on his face. The arms around him tighten.

_Tell me you love me._

“I love you.”

Loki spends the rest of the night carefully convincing himself to relax into the hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of curiosity: I do have a tumblr which isn't very active. If I started posting updates about my fic status, would there be any interest?


	20. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, special thanks to my beta, amethyst_uk. She makes this work readable. 
> 
> Also, special thanks to Sintero, who did a Fanart of this fic! Fanart people! And it's amazing, and beautiful, and NSFW, and you can find it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5781856) !!
> 
> On a final note, a light time skip in this chapter. Loki and Baldr are the equivalent 15, nearly 16 at this point. Sigyn just turned 16.
> 
> _Hreystileikr_ : hreysti = valor, leikr = contest. So, it's a valor contest. (Old Norse means I don't have to try hard to find names for things.^^)

Baldr is panting, exhaustion obvious on his face. He brings his arms in front of him, managing to pull himself into a proper stance. Unfortunately, with his shaking legs, he has little hope to keep it for very long.

Gildi, no matter how idiotic he is, can see that much. 

Baldr holds strong when his opponent first charges, avoiding Gildi’s thick fists. He even manages to hit back, landing a punch on his left cheek. The boy howls in pain, and for a moment it looks like Baldr has earned so respite.

Until Gildi’s head turns back, brown eyes burning with fury, and charges like an idiotic bull.

Idiotic, but strong: Gildi is simply more muscular than Baldr, and his friend cannot fight against the momentum. He lands flat on his back, and in a second his opponent is on top of him, pinning him to the ground. 

“End Spar!” Tyr belows. “The victor is Gildi Halnarrson.” 

The brute stands with a self-satisfied smile, taking in the nothing but polite congratulations as if he were faced with an adoring crowd. He rejoins the rank of students, though not before giving one last sneer to Baldr, who is still rising himself to a stand.

The sight makes him quietly seethe. 

“Are you alright?” he asks as Baldr walks to stand next to him. The blonde gives him a reassuring smile, but says nothing. Not that Loki is surprised. 

It is forbidden to talk during sparring, but Loki has long mastered silencing spells in order to talk with the Casket; he sees little point in not using them. Besides, it hardly counts at all when Baldr is so determined to stay as silent as possible. 

Be it at eighty or two hundred and eighty, that boy cannot bear breaking a rule. 

_I have no idea how you tolerate him. He is_ so _dull!_ The Casket whines once again, and Loki has to resist rolling his eyes. 

Despite all its warnings and mistrust, and all the caution he had exerted to humor his friend, over a decade in Baldr’s company has revealed to Loki what he knew all along: the boy was utterly guileless. So much so it was almost frightening. 

Loki had looked for anything amiss within Baldr, any sign of foul intent. Notably five years ago, when Sigyn had left for two months to visit her parents. There had been an incident involving Freyja, her cats, and an enchanted set of shaving tools, and Baldr had been kind enough to dispose of the evidence afterwards. He had looked nearly ill doing it, but hadn’t needed to be asked. That, if nothing else, showed a change in his disposition towards Loki’s pranks.

That, or a healthy dislike of Freyja. Loki can accept either.

Whatever the case, that gesture on Baldr’s part had been the first of many to inevitably force the Casket to relinquish its suspicion (albeit grudgingly) and try to temper its possessive tendencies.

There are precious few who bear Loki no ill-will; he would be a fool to spurn one of them.

“He fights like a mule whose tail has been pulled,” he sneers. “I don’t know why they let him train here; surely, he would be better suited pulling carts in the fields.”

“He defeated me fairly, Loki.” Of course, Baldr would break the rules to defend his own tormentor. “You cannot begrudge him that.”

“He makes up for mediocre form with brute strength,” Loki huffs. “Even Thor has _some_ technique to his sparring.”

“Well, until I can defeat him, he needs nothing more.”

“Why do you defend him so much?” Loki nearly snaps. “He would been glad to beat you to a pulp!”

“I do not wish to breed conflict. Gildi… well, he is already aggressive enough.” Baldr trails off at the end of his sentence, absent-mindedly rubbing his chest. Gildi must have hurt him more than he let on.

Loki’s eyes narrow; he’ll make the boy pay later.

His attention is pulled back to the sparing ring when Tyr announces the victor - Sif, unsurprisingly. Loki wouldn’t care at all if that final victory did not announce the end of today’s session. 

As has become almost routine, the girls in the rafters go down in the arena to talk to the valiant warriors. Or, to be precise, to go talk to Thor, Fandral and the few that managed to perform adequately that day.

Loki once had two girls approach him after he had managed to best Hogun with a sword. It was awful. They stood too close and kept trying to grab his hand, and wouldn’t go away no matter how purposefully cold he acted. It only seemed to encourage them.

Sigyn had laughed herself sick.

She is among the onlookers today, having brought with her some embroidery to work on during their spars. Her fingers are covered in blue, likely the result of whatever dye she created. That theory is confirmed when she wipes her forehead as she begins to walk towards them, smearing a large blue stain wherever her fingers go. Loki snickers. “Be careful, Baldr! A frost giant approaches.”

Sigyn frowns in confusion, before looking down at her fingers. Her eyes widen in understanding, before turning pensive.

A second later, she drags her hand across Loki’s face.

Baldr bursts out laughing, while Loki takes it rather stoically. “You do realize I was headed for the showers anyway?”

“So you won’t mind if I continue?”

“Try it,” he snorts. “I’ll wrestle you to the ground.”

She gasps. “You wouldn’t harm a Lady, would you?! Look at me, I’m defenseless.”

“Then join the sparring range. I am certain Sif will enjoy the company.”

“I would like to see it,” Baldr chimes in. “You could hold your own just fine, I am certain,”

“I really wouldn’t,” she deadpans. “I don’t like hitting people.”

“You hit Loki.”

“I don’t like hitting people with a sword.”

“Of course you don’t,” Loki intervenes. “You’re a Vanir.”

“You know Loki, it is when you say things like that that I remember you really _are_ Asgardian.”

Loki’s amusement dims at those words. His eyes narrow. “Meaning?”

Sigyn squares her shoulder, talks in a ridiculously bombastic voice. “Fighting, hitting, military supremacy, the strongest of all the realms!” She lowers her shoulders, and shrugs. “That sort of biglesnipe dung.”

“Well, we are,” he deadpans.

“See? True Asgardian pride, right before our eyes!”

Baldr chuckles. “You tease Loki, but I take pride in my home realm just as much as he does. And, I imagine, you.”

“I used to like it much more before that old crow started coming thrice a month,” Sigyn mumbles. “And each time more unpleasant than the last.”

“Are matters that dire in your earldom?” Baldr asks alarmed. “The Lady Yrsa -”

“She is not a Lady, she is an old crow.”

“ -the Lady Yrsa may be tasked with keeping you up to date with news from your home,” the blond continues valiantly. “But she has been coming much more frequently as of late. Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine!” Sigyn groans. “My uncle is being a nuisance, as usual, but nothing will come of it! There is no reason for her to harass me like a Jotun parasite!”

“Speaking of,” Loki says sing-songs, pointedly looking over Sigyn shoulder. She freezes, slowly turning around to follow his eye sight.

Lady Yrsa, the old crow in question, is standing near the entrance of the arena, her eyes narrowing on Sigyn. Coincidently, her nostrils flair open when they fall upon the blue stains covering her skin.

“Oh, Buri’s balls!” Sigyn curses.“How did she _find_ me?”

“Well, to be fair,” Baldr points out, “nearly every girl older than two hundred comes by here at the end of training!” His tone somehow manages to be a blend of commiseration, reason, and a fair amount amusement.

“Precisely!” she groans. “This was supposed to be a cunning deceit! Go to the obvious place, she’d never find me there!”

“Word of advice, Sigyn: it is very hard to deceive the unthinking,” Loki says in sympathy. “Next time, just hide in a cupboard.” 

“But then when will I know when to come out?” she mumbles before leaving, dragging her feet almost literally as she makes her way towards the perpetually unimpressed-looking woman.

Baldr and Loki watch her go, the first with something like sympathy, the second snickering. 

“I do feel sorry for her,” Baldr comments as he starts making his way towards the showers. “If only because she is so obviously miserable.”

“I do not,” Loki replies, unrepentant. “At least what she is bothered with is of some interest, and a little import. Where she in my place, she would complain twice as much.”

“Surely it isn’t that bad,” his friend chastises gently. Loki has long learned that such chidings coming from him are not so much reproaches as invitations to elaborate. 

“Surely, it is,” he retorts with an eyeroll. “I have graduated from sitting at feasts I cannot escape, pasting a smile on my face as I listen to _brave warriors_ recounting the time they hit a monster, to overseeing preparations so that said warriors may have an opportunity to hit each other instead.”

Despite Baldr’s visible efforts to remain conciliatory, the corners of his lips tug themselves into a smile. “The _Hreystileikr_ are more than you make them up to be.”

“Barely. People come, eat, drink, fight each other in duels until only one victor remains, then eat and drink some more, all under the pretence of celebrating the perpetuity of Asgard. By hitting people. It is a festival celebrating the Aesir hitting people.” He pinches his lips together. “At the very least, it is hard to get wrong.”

“Do you not think it is intentional? The King and Queen appoint you with gradually more difficult tasks, so as to not overwhelm you from the start.”

“Well then, they have succeeded, for I am well and truly bored.”

“It is fortunate then, that we have a fighting tournament to look forward to,” Baldr says brightly; too brightly for it not to be sarcastic, even for him. 

“Oh Norns, no!” Loki groans. “I would sooner appoint myself as Volstagg’s cupbearer.”

“Are you not even a little bit excited?” Baldr presses. “It is our first _Hreystileikr_. It only happens once every century! Surely you must be!”

“Not even a little. I have little reason to be.”

“Why is that?”

Loki gives him a rye look. “You know very well dueling is not my strong suit.”

“Nor is it mine. You have seen me just moments ago.”

“It isn’t the same.”

You are not the second prince, he doesn’t add.

Baldr nods, understanding. Or at least, Loki likes to think he does. 

_Do not linger too long on wishful thinking,_ the Casket whispers in his mind, voice sad. _I would hate to see you hurt._

Loki doesn’t react. His mood is much poorer than it was moments ago. 

Thor is delighted about the upcoming tournament, of course, investing himself in the organization with much more enthusiasm than he has ever given any other official function. Probably, Loki thinks bitterly, he wishes for the best setting possible for his upcoming glory.

Thor is the best fighter of their age. His techniques are plain, almost simplistic, but he masters them completely. He is naturally strong and enduring; in a combat as straightforward as a duel, with no distractions and only weapons allowed, he is unmatched. Well, Sif can put up a fair fight, but...

“Loki?” 

Baldr’s voice brings him back in the present moment. It takes him half a second to get rid of the frustrated expression he knows to be on his face before turning back towards his friend. “I’m sorry, I was not listening, what did you say?”

Baldr looks at him, concern lining his features. It irks Loki, and Baldr can probably see it, for he tries to school his face in a more benign expression still- not very successfully. “I asked if you wished to train together?”

“Train?”

“Yes, I… well, it may sound like a foolish idea,” he elaborates, blushing slightly. “But I do need to improve my skills, and perhaps doing so in a more private setting might help. And since you usually like to improve your own… Not that I find you unskilled in anyway! I just…” he trails off, looking absolutely miserable. 

Loki blinks. “I…” He has no idea why the offer catches him so off guard. Perhaps it is the idea that he would want to train any _more_ that is alien to him. He has never been thirsty for humiliation. 

Which in fact makes this a rather good solution, he reflects. Better to improve his skills before the tournament, where humiliation will be much more public. Moreover, if anyone is incapable of judgment, it is Baldr. “Yes, why not? It is not a poor idea.”

Baldr’s relief is visible, but he still asks cautiously: “Truly? I would not wish to impose anything upon you!” 

“Not at all,” Loki replies, keeping his voice light despite the waves of disapproval that come from the Casket. The past decade has been an exercise in balancing between his newer friends and the oldest one, so he is very well versed in keeping his expression neutral while listening to the Casket berating him.

_Really, Loki?_ It groans. _Will you ever stop pandering him?_

Well, he thinks back, I don’t see how it can hurt.

_It is more time between the two of us denied,_ It reproaches. _For something that will probably be of no use anyway!_

You cannot possibly know that. With _Hreystileikr_ coming, it may very well be helpful.

_He is a horrible sparrer. He will pose no challenge at all._

Well then, Loki shoots back nastily, I suppose I will look better in comparison, at the very least.

The Casket’s answering laugh fills him with satisfaction for a moment. Until he looks at Baldr again, and then he is filled with shame.

That last reply was unworthy. Baldr doesn’t deserve such scorn coming from him.

_Oh, come now, Loki,_ the Casket sighs. _What has he ever done for you that makes you indulge him so?_

Please stop, he thinks, his mind’s voice suddenly sounding much more tired. It’s already agreed to. No point in going back on it.

_I don’t like it._

I’ll make it up to you, he adds without thinking, then freezes. 

It is too late to take that back, but for a moment he hopes that his friend will reject the offer, and -

_Good._

Loki swallows. Alright then.

He’ll think about it later.

“We can begin next week, perhaps?” he says out loud, willing his mind away from the previous conversation. “The next few days will be very busy for both of us, and there is no true hurry besides.”

“Of course,” Baldr agrees. “Whenever you have the time.”

The conversation ends when they reach the showers. Baldr dislikes lingering there, always scrubbing himself with so much haste he is gone within five minutes. Even Loki isn’t that body shy. 

They finish quickly, and part ways shortly after. Loki needs to meet with his family in preparation for that damn _Hreystileikr,_ which he is growing to hate with passion _._ The entire preparation for that event has been nothing but tedious numbers and mind-numbing considerations. To think there had been a time when he had been excited to be involved in the planning of such an important event!

Alas, it seems some duties are inescapable. Even for the second prince.

He enters the King’s study, and upon entering is almost immediately assaulted by his brother’s booming voice.

“Brother, you were very nearly late!” Thor announces with the brightest of grins. “Perhaps the Ladies at the arena have distracted you?”

Loki rolls his eyes. The subject of his brother’s teasings hasn’t changed in over a decade, despite Loki never giving him any fodder. At least now he has decided not to implicate Sigyn this time. “Not everyone shares your obsessions, Thor. Besides, I am not that late.”

“Please, Loki,” their mother says, using the same conciliatory tone she has used many times now. “It is only uncommon for you to arrive after your brother. There is nothing more to it.”

“Splendid!” he says brightly. “Now if you could only inform Thor of that fact…”

“Really, Loki,” Thor retorts, “was it not you who told me that the most defensive have the most to hide?”

“Boys,” their mother chides gently once more, but makes no effort in hiding her amusement. She enjoys seeing the two of them banter, and makes no secret of it.

Still, they know better than to push their luck. They fall silent, and manage to adopt a serious enough expression by the time their father starts talking. 

“We start with the food reserves,” he announces, gesturing towards a rather horrid looking report filed with numbers and calculations. “There are fifty thousand people attending the _Hreystileikr,_ and a near hundred participating in the tournament. Such an added stress upon of consumption needs to be prepared for.”

“Have we not already?” Thor asks. “The preparations have lasted two years now; surely, there is enough in storage?”

“It’s about opulence,” Loki says, rolling his eyes. “The Aesir will not be satisfied with just enough; they each need more than their share.”

His father grunts. “Indeed they do, Loki, and it is no cause for your scorn.” The single blue eye looks at him in an all too familiar expression. “In a time of celebration, it is reasonable to expect abundance. It is reasonable to wish for proof that the Realm is still as strong as ever.” His voice grows heavier still. “More importantly, they are your people, and despising them will do you no favors.”

Loki looks down at the table, still feeling the weight of that eye upon him. He hadn’t expected his comment to garner such a reaction, but it seems displeasing people is coming more and more naturally with each passing day. He doesn’t know whether to feel frustrated of weary. “Yes Father,” he answers demurely. “I am sorry.”

There are a few seconds of silence that follow, the atmosphere around them getting dangerously close to unpleasant until his mother speaks. “What do you suggest we do, Loki?”

He raises his head. She is looking at him patiently, but expectantly. Resisting the urge to tangle his fingers together, he offers: “We could place an order with Vanaheim. A little from each earldom. They will be happy to do trade with Asgard, and we will have more than enough food.”

“What an excellent idea,” she says, and he resists the urge to bite his lips. It is hardly revolutionary, and it is almost certain that they have thought of it before. His mother is merely patronizing him.

Still, he plasters on a semblance of a smile, enough to satisfy her.

As she turns towards Father to discuss the logistics, his brother leans in next to him.

“Favoring trade with Vanaheim? I am certain Sigyn will be pleased with the news,” Thor whispers, teasing grin audible in his voice. “Be sure the two of you are alone when you tell her, should you two get carried away in your joy.”

“Will you stop that!” Loki snaps.

“Stop what?” Thor asks innocently, before chuckling when he sees Loki’s cheeks redden. “Come now, brother, I will not judge. You are two hundred and eighty five years old. I am certain I have done worse at your age. There is no need to be embarrassed.”

But it isn’t embarrassment that threatens Loki; he may not have the success his brother has, but he is no blushing ingénue either. His brother’s innuendos are not enough to fluster him.

But there is a memory creeping at the corner of his mind, and - he stamps it down viciously. Now is not the time.

“Will you focus?” Loki hisses. “We are supposed to be learning something.” Not that he himself has any interest in it, but he’ll be damned if he lets Thor get away with anything.

“I try, but it is a hard task you demand of me,” Thor grumbles. “You are much better at this drivel than I am.”

“Well, then, crown Prince, you had better learn.”

“Why ever?” Thor answers with a bright grin. “After all, you will always be there for me!”

Loki purses his lips.

Over the years, his intended position in the future has become quite clear, yet the reminder is always bitter. 

He doesn’t want to be just Thor’s advisor. He does not want to spend the rest of his life in service of his brother.

He wants to tell Thor exactly where he can shove his certainty that Loki will always be there to do what he does not wish to do. 

“Don’t be so certain,” he mumbles instead, looking back towards the papers on the table.

He can feel Thor looking at him, his brother having turned silent. Unusual, when it comes to him.

_Perhaps he has tried learning about numbers, and his brain shut down from the strain?_

Loki snorts.

“And what makes you laugh, brother?” Thor asks almost immediately. There is a hint of relief in his voice.

‘Thinking of something Sigyn said, is all,” Loki lies smoothly, before looking up. “Don’t start.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Thor says airily. “Though I do hope Baldr does not feel too left out when he is with the two of you.”

“You are overly preoccupied with my social life,” Loki says drily. “Should I take it that yours is lacking?”

“What are my sons talking about,” their father’s voice booms, causing them both to look up sharply, “that they do not listen to their parents?”

Some days, Loki believes that his father makes up for his lacking eye by doubling the other’s intensity. No matter how often he is on the receiving end on that stare, it never fails to make him squirm.

“Sigyn and Baldr,” Thor responds quickly, proving that he is either incapable of coming up with a convincing lie or shrewd enough to subtly direct the King’s attention towards Loki instead of him by mentioning Loki’s friends. 

Either way, their father’s gaze turns towards him, and Loki could throttle Thor right now. “And this could not wait until a more appropriate time?”

Loki gulps, before looking down once more. “Yes, Father. I am sorry.”

_Oh, Loki..._ The Casket sighs.

“The fault is not his, Father!” Thor speaks up, so loud and earnest it almost makes Loki startle. “I initiated the conversation. Loki merely answered my questions.”

Their father waves a hand dismissively. “It does not matter. I will not berate my sons for letting their minds stray once, but I will demand that you do not let it happen again.”

“Yes, Father,” they both answer.

Loki’s gratefulness towards his brother is dampened by how light the scolding Thor received was once he denounced himself. He doesn’t believe he would be extended the same courtesy.

“You and Baldr are quite close, are you not?” their mother asks suddenly. 

There is a smile on her face, as there usually is when she is talking to her sons, but it feels off, somehow. Not strained, but perhaps forced? 

_Perhaps she agrees with me on the boy?_ The Casket suggests almost smugly, as if it were at all possible. Baldr has endeared himself to every older court lady in a matter of months, to the point where Loki believed some of them preferred him to their own sons.

“Yes, we are..?” Loki answers her question, voice trailing at the end as he tries to gauge her reaction. “As much as we can be in only a couple decades, of course...”

Seeing his obvious hesitance, she quickly rushes to reassure him. “Oh, no, Loki, I did not mean anything by it!” She seems much more genuine this time, if a little emphatic. “It is good, that the two of you are friends once more. I am more than happy about it.”

Wonderful, so am I, Loki almost says back, before deciding it was perhaps a little too insolent. He isn’t in the habit of being rude towards his mother, and besides, he has no desire to prolong the rather awkward conversation.

So instead he just nods with a smile, and it seems to work well enough. They go back to the matter at hand.

It is mind numbingly dull, as expected; those kind of events are only entertaining when one is not involved in the actual organization. Loki wonders if his parents resent having to do this at all; his brother and him, at the very least, will be able to participate in some of the merriment. The King and Queen have no such luck.

He may have blanked out a few times during the discussions. He is too bored to truly care beyond lightly scolding himself. His mother senses it, not that it is very hard to miss. She gives him a sympathetic look, and places a hand on the back of his neck.

It takes all he has not to stiffen.

Remembrance threatens him again, but decades of concealment allow him to keep his composure. 

He shouldn’t think about such things. Not now. 

He’s fine. 

He’s _fine._

“Wife,” his father sighs. “Perhaps we should grant mercy upon our sons. The eldest is restless, the second is lost in thought, and neither have listened to a word we have spoken.”

Loki had just enough time to bluster a protest of “What? No, Fa..” before Thor’s much louder “Truly?” covered his voice. His father looked on with a long-suffering sigh, while his mother just tries to hide her amusement.

“Yes, yes. I know a lost cause when I see one, even with my one eye,” he grumbles, although the sound is more good-natured than anything else. 

Thor beams, while Loki can feel the blood draining from his face. 

He wonders how he will be expected to make up for this. It will be hard ; surely, Father’s disappointment will be difficult 

How can Thor be so _calm_ about this?! 

“You look thoroughly shocked, brother,” Thor laughs. “Did you believe our Father incapable of mercy?”

Probably because Thor has never worried about anything in his life, Loki thinks exasperatedly, and not without some jealousy.

How nice it must be, to be Thor. The golden prince.

_Now, Loki, what did I tell you?_ The Casket chides. _Your wishful thinking will do you no favors. Accept your lot in life._

“Leave quickly, boy, before I decide you are undeserving of my mercy after all!”

Thor laughs, and with a final thankful glance towards his father and kiss to their mother, leaves

“Loki, wait. I wish to speak with you.”

Oh.

He stops, gulps, and slowly turns around. His father hasn’t moved from his spot near the table, and doesn’t seem any angrier or disapproving now that Thor and Mother are gone. That is a good sign.

He doesn’t know why Father would wish to speak with him, but at least he is now fairly certain it isn’t because he has done anything wrong. 

_Why else would he call upon you, though? T_ he Casket points out. 

He has no idea. That is the troubling part. 

Well, that, and the fact that his father still hasn’t said a word. He is still looking at him, immovable-looking as his hands rest on the wooden table. The sight makes Loki’s intense desire to fidget even more embarrassing. 

“My son,” his father says slowly after the silence has lasted a horribly long time. “Are you content?”

Loki blinks.

What?

“I...yes?” he blurts out. Of all the things his father could have asked him to stay behind for, this is it?!

There is no answer forthcoming, just more silence and contemplative staring as Loki still resists the urge to fidget. 

He had been uncomfortable minutes before. Now he is uncomfortable _and_ confused.

“You are quite certain?” his father presses eventually.

“Of course,” he replies smoothly, managing to paste a mild smile on his face. A grin would make him look dishonest, a neutral expression would come across as sulking, neither of which are desirable right now.

For some reason, his father believes him to be ungrateful, or too greedy. Or at least, suspects it. It is the only conclusion Loki can come to, and in a way, it is a relief. Not because it is a good situation to be in, Norns no; but now, at the very least, he knows the proper answers to these questions. 

“You would tell me, if it were not so?”

“I would, but you would quickly get tired of hearing me complaining about Thor,” Loki jokes easily. “Unless you are sincere, in which case I suggest you find three full days away from your duties.”

His joke falls flat. His father nods, looking at him thoughtfully. It is an expression Loki has seen directed towards him before, usually from afar when the king believes he isn’t looking. He never truly understood it, and has therefore grown to dislike it immensely. 

The sentiment still applies now.

Eventually, his father lets out a breath, and nods. “Good then. I am glad you are well.”

Loki just keeps his smile in place. “Was that all?”

“Yes, yes,” the King replies. He looks down towards the table, and begins shuffling the documents left on it. “I will not keep you any longer.”

Loki frowns. Perhaps Father is unconvinced?

Something to reflect upon later, Loki decides. For now, he just needs for this moment to end. 

“I will see you tonight, then,” he says with a nod. Of course it isn’t certain, since the King’s duties often keep him occupied until late in the evening, but Loki believes his father will appreciate the sentiment.

He gets no answer apart from a grunt in confirmation, but it is enough. He quickly steps out of the room, into the blessedly empty hallway. 

_That was unpleasant,_ the Casket deadpans. 

Quite.

As is his habit after these meetings, he makes his way towards his chambers. He still spends most of his time there, all things considered. It is the only place where he has complete privacy.

He wonders if Heimdal has noticed that he can no longer see into Loki’s rooms; probably not, otherwise Loki is certain he would have been scolded by his parents for it. Besides, the gatekeeper has better things to do than look over his own prince.

Still, even though he has managed to shield his quarters from Heimdall, he isn’t quite satisfied. His shield is limited to those few rooms, and can easily be overcome should the gatekeeper choose to focus on him. He will need something more powerful.

Something to work on, he thinks as he pushes the door open. For now, he will just rest, at least for a short while. Being back in his chambers is a relief. 

Until he becomes keenly aware that he is alone in the room with the Casket. It is enough to bring back the memory he has tried so hard to keep at bay, and this time, in the privacy of his room, he finally stops fighting.

He cannot remember how long ago it was, but he had woken up in the middle of the night once again, tormented by the same restless sleep that had been plaguing him for years now. And as usual, he had woken hard, along with the feeling of shame he could not justify.

He was no idiot, no blushing maid. He _knew_ such phenomenon were natural, knew that Thor had probably explored such avenues quite thoroughly, to say nothing of Fandral. Yet that never stopped him from being uncomfortable with it, could never keep him from feeling as if oil were clinging to his skin.

On previous nights, he had buried himself in his blankets and tried futilely to go back to sleep. That time though, he had grown beyond frustrated with himself.

It is natural, even expected at his age. It is nothing wrong, and he refuses to let himself be cowered by his own body.

And almost to prove it to himself, he had reached down and begun to stroke.

It hadn’t been much, in the beginning, he felt much too self-conscious for that. Still, he persevered; closing his eyes and trying to focus on whatever he was supposed to focus on. He thought of the Ladies in the court, the kind he knew to be attractive, for Thor and his friends had often talked about them in such terms.

It hadn’t helped much, so he had broadened the spectrum to simple features: smiles, pale skin, warm touches, and it had helped. Slowly the pleasure had begun to build, and he had chased as much for its own sake as for the feeling of having control on it for once.

_My, my, Loki_. _You are certainly growing up._

The voice had startled him, so much so that he gasped. He had a flash of a memory, him standing in front of a mirror, and all the mortifying feelings that came with it. He had let go, had dragged his hand back as quickly as he could.

_No!_

Loki had frozen then, more out of reflex than anything else. Reflex and incomprehension.

_Keep going._

“What..?” he had croaked out. Surely his friend wouldn’t..?

_I will help you. Keep going._

He had wanted to say no. He hadn’t wanted to go on, had wanted to bury himself in the ground and forget it ever happened.

But he felt a hand on his inner thigh, stroking, his cock twitching in response, and he knew what his friend wanted of him. 

So, slowly, he reached down, and started stroking once more. He had felt phantom hands on his inner thigh, above his stomach, down the side of his face, and although he knew such attentions were meant to help him along, they only served to make him self-conscious.

But he couldn’t reject them. 

_Good boy, my Loki,_ the Casket had said, so he had closed his eyes, and persevered. It was the only word appropriate: he persevered, and endured. 

There had been pleasure, that much was true, but there was also shame, even as he couldn’t stop.

It had ended in a quiet burst, his own come spurting against his sheets and skin

_Lovely._

Loki hadn’t felt lovely. He had felt slightly ill.

_It’s alright,_ the Casket had said. _We will work on it. I quite enjoyed it._ It chuckled, and he had to repress a wince at the thought. _Although, of course, not as much as you._

Loki had said nothing. He didn’t even feel capable of blushing

_Clean it up. You shouldn’t lay in your mess._

He had obeyed numbly. A simple spell, and the sheets were clean.

_Good boy,_ it had crooned. _Go to sleep now._

He had tried, he couldn’t

Was this what all the boys his age were so enthused about? How? He couldn’t…

He had no desire to do it again. 

_Oh, that’s not right,_ the Casket had said, concerned. _Normal boys enjoy such things. I hope there isn’t anything wrong with you._

Loki had bit his lip.

He hoped there wasn’t anything wrong with him; as days went by, he was less and less certain.

He has made progress, he tells himself. Habit had made the whole affair more bearable. And there is pleasure to be found.

He doesn’t want to do it again though. He never wants to do it again.

But Baldr. The sparring. _’I’ll make it up to you,_ ’ he had said. He knows what the Casket expects from him.

_It’s alright, Loki,_ his friend reassures, _we will do it tomorrow._

He lets out a shaky breath. 

“Thank you,” he whispers.

If anything, the Casket doesn’t push.


End file.
